


it's the life we're living now

by vivevoce



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Becoming Parents, Being Really Great Together Until They're Not, Career Ending Injuries, Coming Out, Depression, Falling In Love, Family Secrets, Future Fic, Like At Least 3 Weddings, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Motorcycle Journeys Of Self Discovery™, Otabek Becomes a YouTube Singer, Painful Break Up, Past Domestic Violence, So Maybe It's Not All That Healthy, Staying Really Healthy Friends, Who Literally Never Got Over Each Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-15 23:33:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9263774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivevoce/pseuds/vivevoce
Summary: “... Did you know you still give me boners?” Yuri asks seriously. Otabek is startled into an incredulous snort. “Don’t laugh, you asshole! It’s tragic and inconvenient and probably going to last until we’re old and can’t get it up anymore.”“I’m touched,” Otabek replies tonelessly. “You have such a way with words.”“Yeah, I know.” Yuri grins, all sharp teeth. “Feel free to swoon a little closer into my arms. And on top of my crotch?”“Fuck off.” Yuri can hear Otabek’s grudging smile, even with his back turned.“Baby?”“No.”“Zhanym?”“Gross.”





	1. maybe i just knew i had to wait for you

**Author's Note:**

> this originally started off as a million head canons and milestones that weren't related to each other... and somehow turned into 35 years of their lives with character exploration and plot
> 
> gays on ice got me fucked up, in the sweetest, purest way possible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Strange - Louis The Child ft K. Flay  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JNVXi3QpaMo
> 
> the songs tend to set the mood for each period of their lives, but i won't insist (they do help though)
> 
> just as a warning, the emotional timeline for this story goes from happy to really happy to sad to oh god everything is terrible to we'll be okay 
> 
> enjoy!

 

* * *

 

(glasses)

Yuri doesn’t find out until the first time they Skype. “You wear glasses?” Otabek gives him a wan, pixelated smile. 

“Am I not cool enough to be your friend anymore,” Otabek deadpans. Yuri’s cheeky smile almost hides the fact that his heart’s beating a little harder than usual. They’re just black clubmasters with gold underwire, but they soften Otabek’s normally sharp features--especially when his hair isn’t styled and he’s at home in a grey henley. He looks comfortable.

“You look like a hipster,” is what Yuri says instead. Cue eye roll.

“I knew it,” Otabek huffs. 

“Yeah, sorry, can’t do it. You should go read Nietzsche and cry alone or something.”

“Fuck you,” is the fond reply.

Apparently, his vision’s good enough that he can get away with not needing them on the ice. It corrected itself with age and now he only wears them when reading for extended periods of time. Yuri tries to picture a younger, bespectacled Otabek and the thought is frighteningly adorable. 

That makes things even worse.

 

* * *

 

(hot)

Yuri pretty much thought the words “holy shit” from the moment he laid eyes on Otabek, which isn’t really a surprise. He’s older, wore an undercut like it was nobody’s business (read: better than JJ), and road a motorcycle. “Hot” was probably the third word to describe him other than “stoic” and “stubborn son of a bitch”.

Otabek, on the other hand, never quite saw Yuri as hot. Beautiful, sure. With his pale blond hair, angelic green eyes, and fair complexion. Pretty, even, if he was in a mood to be eviscerated. Otabek stuck with “cute” most of the time though, because a) it was true, b) it pissed Yuri off, and c) anyone who consciously decides to buy cat-ear headphones is asking for it.

The first time Otabek ever thinks hot is when Yuri is just shy of 17 and he sees a picture on Instagram. Not just any picture; Yuri’s feed normally consists of his own (well taken) selfies, but this one was a professional glamour shot. It’s taken from behind; Yuri is turning and gathering his hair up from the nape of his neck. He’s grown it out, and it spills soft and thick over his hands and shoulder. Whatever they did to the contrast emphasizes his back muscles through his black thermal, and Otabek’s mouth goes completely dry. Otabek distantly remembers Yuri telling him that he was recently interviewed by a sports magazine, which was a fair warning but… shit. Otabek takes in the high cheekbones, soft arrogance, and it’s no wonder there’s over 200,000 likes and counting. Otabek taps his thumb on the photo, so that a momentary red heart floats and disappears over Yuri’s intense green gaze. The expression in them is familiar, even if nothing else is, and Otabek finds that comforting. After taking a screenshot and saving it to his gallery, he comments _@yuri-plisetsky way to make @v-nikiforov feel threatened_. Yuri’s response 10 minutes later is an emoji blowing a kiss, and Victor sends back approximately 7 crying emojis along with, they grow up so fast.

 

* * *

 

(habits/mannerisms)

They pick up little quirks from the other. Sometimes it's obvious, like the fact Otabek's Instagram and Facebook are both now approximately 500% more active than they were pre-Yuri. Others are more subtle, but enough to earn a double take from whoever is talking to them: like a wry and deadpan joke delivered from Yuri or a roll of the eyes from Otabek. They start using Russian, Kazakh, and English slang interchangeably and Otabek picks up on the little half shrug and head tilt before answering a question with a question. They both get into habit of automatically subtracting or adding 3 hours in their heads to account for time zone differences.

 

* * *

 

 (religion)

Otabek is Muslim the same way that Yuri is technically Russian Orthodox. He never really grew up devout, because by the time he was 12 he was already in different parts of the world and no one was enforcing a halal diet or prayer times. He tries to observe Ramadan but there’s no one to cook him the traditional food of Eid afterwards; he gives up the practice after enough lonely years of Skyping his family and eating take-out instead of being able to join them. His mother is very faithful, but his father is a more lax man; mindful of tradition, yet concerned about other things. His older sister fought it growing up, being the oldest and the only girl, so she was even less religious than he was. His younger brother, as the baby of the family, is just beginning to come to terms with his faith and is the only one of the Altins to wholeheartedly embrace it. Sometimes, Otabek wakes up at night, always in a foreign country, and keenly misses his family and home. On those nights, his heritage and religion seem closer to him, and he prays wordlessly to the ceiling, unsure of which way was Mecca. On others, he feels alienated. He's stepped into mosques in Russia before and felt like he didn’t belong there. Like he wasn’t Muslim enough, didn’t know enough, or practice enough. He apologizes sometimes, to the ceiling; unsure of who was there to listen, wishing he could be less cynical and more certain.

 

 ::

 

Yuri, on the other hand, has been into a church maybe 5 times in his whole life; his grandfather had never been a religious man, and his grandmother (before she passed away) had been cheerful and half-hearted at best. The very last time he’d been in a church was for his grandmother’s funeral, and he never wanted to set foot in there again. God was always a vague concept to him, the idea of someone who supposedly watched over him when his grandfather couldn’t; who kept him company even when his mother was working but ultimately couldn’t stop her from leaving. He doesn’t place much faith in God, after the age of 6, when he prayed for her to come back every single night for a month until the whispers trailed off midway and he would fall asleep. Yuri’s dreams of heaven would always be filled with too many blond winged creatures that looked like her.

 

* * *

 

(family)

Yuri’s technically met Otabek’s family over Skype before, as Otabek’s best friend. This was before they were ever dating--when he finally did visit one summer, they still hadn’t been together yet so things were fine. The Altin family had been so kind and immediately welcoming that Yuri can’t bring himself to imagine losing that warmth and acceptance. He’s never had a big family before. So he keeps the affection appropriate; works on establishing a relationship with them as individuals. It helps that they all are equally as comfortable in Russian as they are in Kazakh, because there’s no language barrier to water down Yuri’s personality. He tries to be the best version of himself, and brings in all the manners his grandpa ever taught him while trying to act natural at the same time.

Otabek’s sister, Atiya, is the easiest to get along with. She’s 3 years older than Beka and different from the rest of the household in a determined, fiery sort of way. In any case, she talks the most so it’s easier to be himself around her, and she gets his humor which is a plus. Even if he’s always just a little intimidated--Atiya’s currently getting her master’s for biochemical engineering and he’s pretty sure the boxing gloves in the living room are Otabek’s until he sees her come in and swing them over her shoulder. “Y’know, my sister was the one who taught me how to punch,” Otabek informs Yuri, quirking an eyebrow. Yuri calmly accepts his fate of a fractured skull if he ever hurts Otabek and Atiya finds out.

Serik, Otabek’s brother, is the sweetheart of the family. Having such talented older siblings somehow took the pressure off of him; he’s happily average, academically lacking but socially adept. Being 4 years younger than Otabek, he’s the closest to Yuri in age and yet somehow so much more carefree that he can hardly believe Serik’s a year from graduating high school. He reminds Yuri of a toned down Minami, except he’s so charming that Yuri can’t tell if all the girls he brings home are friends or dates. They never do anything except hang out in the living room but... “I think he has more game than you,” Yuri whispers in horror, watching as Serik smoothly plays a guitar. “Shut the fuck up,” Otabek hisses, but accepts the cold hard truth after the third basket of heart-shaped sweets shows up for Serik.

 

* * *

 

(mother)

It’s a bit like someone throwing a bucket of ice water to his face--except the water turned out to be acid and the person throwing the bucket was supposed to be his grandfather. His grandfather, who always had his best interests at heart, who he trusted more than anyone in the world, is standing there with his lips pursed.

“Why did you wait to tell me?” Yuri’s voice quavers, and his shaky calm front does nothing for his clenched fists at his sides. Nikolai sighs heavily, turning the letter in his hands.

“I didn’t think you needed the distraction. You had a competition coming up. I didn’t want anything to interfere with it.”

“Is that why you weren’t there?” Yuri knows that’s a low blow but Nikolai is a strong man and he takes it.

“Perhaps,” he says diplomatically. Yuri can’t imagine what kind of situation it had to have been that he would’ve missed Yuri’s free skate. “Yurachka, they wanted to see you.”

“Why?” Yuri’s lips are numb. “Why wait this long? Is it because she knows I’m actually _worth_ something now?” The words he spits out are ugly but the feelings behind them are even uglier. Bitterness. Resentment. Rage. Terror.

Jealousy.

He wants to rip apart the photo in his hands. The girl in it is young. Maybe 7. Yuri’s mother left when he was 6, and he’s 15 now. He can do the math.

“It wasn’t the right time before.” And Yuri can _hear_ the disappointment in Nikolai’s voice, knows that he loved her too, that it was his _daughter_ and not just Yuri’s mother. That she had ran away from her responsibilities, left him with a child, disconnected her phone and ran. Never sent back any money. Never even reached out to let them know she was alive. And now this? Yuri doesn’t understand why his grandfather is not more upset with her, why he looks pained instead, and frankly? He doesn’t care.  

“I don’t want to.”

 

**::**

 

She’s prettier than him. Fair blonde hair, gap-toothed smile, feather-light eyebrows. Even though she’s young, Yuri already sees the family resemblance in her. She looks sweet. Like an easy kid. She doesn’t look like she gets angry for no reason sometimes, doesn’t look like the kind of child to ever cause trouble.

“I hate her,” Yuri tells his computer screen without looking up. Otabek sighs, grainy and tired. “I don’t even know her and I hate her.”

“Yuri... ” Otabek seems to be searching for the words in his head. “I’m… curious. Aren’t you? There has to be more to this--”

“To _what,”_ Yuri snaps. “To my mother abandoning me?”

All his grandparents had ever told him was that his mother couldn’t come back. The reason was never specified, and as the years went by, Yuri’s wild imagination took him to so many different scenarios in defense. The child-like fantasies of her leaving for his own good soured into scenarios where she was too young, too poor, and Yuri too unlovable for her to come back. Now he doesn’t want to know.

“She left me. She has no right.” Yuri fiercely wipes under his eyes. “I don’t want her anymore.”

“Yura…” Otabek pauses. Yuri looks up. The sorrow in his face is palpable and honest. “You’re right. I can’t imagine any reason good enough for someone to give up the chance to know you.” The sincerity makes Yuri duck his head down, defeated.

“That’s because there isn’t one.”

"She missed her chance to watch you grow up. She lost the opportunity to get to know your strength, your determination, your fire.” Yuri’s breath catches. “Maybe that’s punishment enough.”

Yuri is definitely crying now. Otabek lets him. They don't need to talk about it.

 

* * *

 

(weddings)

Otabek doesn’t know what he was expecting the Nikiforov-Katsuki wedding to be like. Actually, scratch that, he does know. He was picturing maybe an explosion of blue roses and fountains of champagne with white doves sipping on the edges. Something over-the-top extravagant because Victor wouldn’t settle for less and Yuuri is too fond to stop him.

What he gets instead is something private and small. Granted, it’s a destination wedding because it’s in Hasetsu, Japan. But asides from that small detail, it’s…

It’s honestly really nice. They decided on a beach wedding during the summer because it was warm enough for that sort of thing. A June wedding, which is a stupid romantic cliche as Yuri constantly points out. Otabek calls bullshit on his exasperation considering he’s been three-way Skyping Yuuko and Phichit every other week for months helping them plan.

Otabek wasn’t able to attend the traditional _san-san-ku-do_ portion of the wedding; the ceremony was kept only to family and was performed at a Shinto shrine close by. He did hear about it from Yuri though, who was invited as a family member and genuinely seemed surprised to find himself there.

“It was beautiful,” Yuri says in a choked up, angry sort of way (which is the only way he ever does anything, frankly).

There _are_ blue roses, intertwined with boughs of forget-me-not's and delicate white sprays of baby breath on the wedding arch. The officiator is Yakov, who looks a bit emotional, but valiantly reads the vows in an increasingly louder voice to fight the tears. Yuuri is glowing, as his father walks him down the sandy aisle, and Victor looks so fucking happy and pure that Otabek finds himself smiling. They’re so in love. And they’re so _loved,_  by everyone who flew around the world to sit on these white folding chairs, fanning their faces of tears (except for Georgi, who gives up subtlety and is opening sobbing). Maccachin is the ring-bearer because of course he is.

When Victor and Yuuri finally kiss, Otabek grins and glances over at Yuri--only to realize that Yuri is already looking at him. They both freeze, blushing, and only look away when everyone around them gets up to rush the aisle.  

The reception is where the Russian part of the wedding kicks in. Some can last for up to a week and Otabek is totally okay with that. By now, the sun has set, and the dark sea air is lit by paper lanterns and a roaring bonfire. There’s an eclectic mix of Russian and Japanese finger foods, and every 10 minutes, someone is toasting something. After enough shots even Otabek is willing to dance; and Yuri is so shocked that it’s _Otabek_ who is pulling him up that he lets it happen. The atmosphere feels alive and bubbling with laughter, thanks to Minako, who has _fantastic_ taste in music. Mila joins in on their dancing with a half drunk Christophe and Sara, while Guang Hong sweetly spins next to them with gallant Leo. Otabek loses count of how many times he catches Yuri’s eye and they burst out laughing; first at Lilia’s undisguised horror at how _bad_ everyone’s rhythm is; then at Michele and Emil who are determinedly locked in a drinking contesting; then at JJ and Isabelle who are good-naturedly but loudly toasting their own upcoming wedding to anyone who will listen. Eventually, he runs out of reasons and just enjoys Yuri’s laugh, enjoys the warmth of sitting next to him before the bonfire, watching shooting stars cross the horizon.

 

* * *

  

(kiss)

The first time Yuri kisses Otabek, it's completely by accident. So they don't count it. (It had been at the wedding, of course. They were both drunk and there was no tongue... though Yuri had petulantly wished there was.)

The first time Otabek kisses Yuri is entirely on purpose, and Otabek is predictably gentle and reassuring and confident... what Yuri doesn't know is that Otabek's heart is trying to jackhammer its way out of his throat and his palms are nervously sweating against his jeans. Yuri just snorts when they break apart for air and it bruises Otabek's ego a little before he sees the nervousness blushing Yuri's pale skin into a shade not unsimilar to a traffic light. Yuri, for a 17 year old with very limited dating experience, kisses back like a natural. “Happy New Year,” Otabek whispers, and the blinding smile he gets back is tinged with fireworks and flecks of snow.

 

* * *

 

(coming out)

Yuri isn’t worried about what the people who care about him will say. Yuri was blessed with a forward minded grandfather who only looked very confused rather than outright horrified when Yuri came out.

 “Is it that Altin boy?” he asks.

 “Yes, dedushka.”

 "Oh. But why?”

And Yuri explains it. How it’s not a mental illness, like some folks might say. How he loves Otabek because it’s Otabek, who treats him well and is such a good person. How it wasn’t a choice, so much as something that he felt and allowed himself to embrace. How even if it was a choice, Yuri wouldn’t undo it. It makes his grandfather go quiet for a while, staring into his cup of tea, before asking him politely to give him a night to think about it. Yuri can tell, when he puts his smoking pipe in, that Nikolai is giving it real, serious thought. He wakes up the next morning to an entirely normal, loving breakfast, and a quiet “I love you, Yurachka. No matter who you bring into our lives, remember I raised you to be a gentleman.” Yuri is so relieved and happy that he’s not even upset when Nikolai stipulates that Otabek has to sleep on the couch when he comes over instead of sharing Yuri’s bed.

 

 ::

 

Otabek’s family is a slightly different matter. Otabek doesn’t tell his family about Yuri right away, and Yuri understands his hesitation completely. Considering for that most of the year he doesn’t even live in the same country as them, and when he does, he and Yuri are still a time zone apart, there’s no pressing need for them to know about their relationship. Yuri does get scared though, for him. He knows Beka’s father was looking forward to grandchildren, and his mother was very traditional.

 Atiya is apparently the first who realizes Yuri and Otabek are a little less “friends” and a little more “intensely pining for each other” (her words) so her response is a little underwhelming when Otabek finally tells her, standing in the doorway as she’s busy shaping her eyebrows.

 “You finally did something about it,” she teases. “I’m proud of you, Beka.”

 Otabek, who’d had to mentally rehearse this about thirty times in the privacy of his room, is not prepared for the anticlimax. “That’s it?”

 “I mean, I actually thought he was out of your league.”

 Otabek flushes, but agrees with her so he doesn’t say much besides, “You’re not bothered that he’s… That I’m not…?”

 “Straight?” She finishes for him, cracking open her eyeshadow palette as Otabek flinches. “You know I don’t see it like that.”

 “Yeah, but…”

 “Beka.” She’s blending lazily, barely looking at him. Maybe she can tell he’s nervous and thinks her apathy was helping. “It’s fine. You didn’t tell sheshe or yeka about my last boyfriend, and he wasn’t Kazakh or Muslim… you just managed to one-up me this time around.” She rolls her eyes and Otabek feels a little better and worse at the reminder. “I understand. And I kind of saw this coming anyways. I won’t tell, but you could’ve done a lot worse than a 4-time international medalist.”

 She smiles at him in the mirror, sensing the relief in the room. “... Thanks, ap-keya.”

 “Of course, en-nung,” and the tenderness is definitely there this time. They don’t hug, because that’s not the kind of relationship they have, but Otabek stays with her in comfortable silence and points out when her eyeliner isn’t quite straight and things are good.

 

Serik is harder. Otabek doesn’t think he approves of homosexuality, being so religious, and his fears almost come to fruition when Serik casually asks him, “Is Yuri your best friend?” Otabek weighs the options, taking a sip of his drink to gather some time. Serik goes on. “You guys must be really close, since you Skype each other every single night when you’re home. Even I’m not that close with my best friend.” And Otabek falters. There’s just something so traditional about Serik that he can’t trust, unlike Atiya, and he’s unsure of his brother’s real opinion. He’s so neutral that it could mean anything. Otabek’s free to deny or broach the topic.

 “We’re very close,” Otabek allows, and carefully observes Serik’s face. “Yuri means a lot to me.”

 Serik smiles and asks, “Does Yuri have a girlfriend?” Otabek doesn’t answer. “I see. Do you?”

Otabek looks to the ground. He can’t lie. But he doesn’t know what to say either. His brother sighs, getting up to clear the table. They don’t talk about it again, but Atiya comes to his room later that night and says softly, “Beka? He’s still young. Give him some time.” Otabek puts his earbuds in and turns the volume up, and Atiya sighs before closing the door behind her. He’s not surprised, but he’s not happy either.

 

* * *

 

(night)

The first time Otabek stayed the night was more of an accident than an invitation. It had been a suspiciously long time between Otabek picking up the game controller and finishing off the last can of beer (neither of them wanted to lose their advantage in order to grab another one). It was so rare to get to enjoy anything normal between competitions and training in the off-season, that when he finally calls for a bathroom break to check his phone it was past three in the morning. Yuri refuses to let him ride his bike that late, insisting it’s too dangerous, and Otabek’s weak refusals only earn him a pillow to the face and a spare toothbrush. Yuri manfully offers up his bed, to which Otabek declines in favor of the floor.

They were three years into their friendship at that point, but long distance prolonged every milestone to the point that this felt strange, sharing the same space. Otabek isn’t comfortable, but exhaustion instinctively rolls him to the softest part of the floor as he closes his eyes.

A stubborn amount of time later, he cracks open an eye to find Yuri next to him, dragging a pillow and blanket. He explains that if Otabek insists on making himself miserable, misery likes company, so he might as well join. After all the blankets and pillows are fluffed and _nobody_  is on the bed, they pass out. Otabek wakes with a knee in his back and a smile on his face.

 

::

 

The purity and innocence of that first instance is nowhere close to the next time Yuri spends the night; they’re backed against Otabek’s apartment door, excitable and young, Yuri’s zipper halfway down and Otabek’s sweatshirt thrown into a corner. When Otabek feels hands smoothing down his bare ribs before working at the clasp of his jeans, he breaks away from Yuri’s lips long enough to whisper, “Hey, Yura? Stay the night?”

The white flash of teeth Yuri gives in return is wicked, right before he leans in and whispers, “Only if I get breakfast in the morning.”

 “Wow, spoiled.”

 “I want blintzes,” Yuri preens.

 Off go the pants.“You’re getting cereal.”

 “And a blowjob?”

 Otabek rolls his eyes. “That’s a given.”

 “Kay, deal.”

 

* * *

 

(Facebook official)

Denial is the name of the game for a while. It was the name of the game for years, in fact. Except they’d been insisting they were just friends for so long (to reporters, to friends, to family) that when they eventually did get together, it was apparent almost right away. For one, Otabek is complete shit at lying under pressure. For another, Yuri blushes with his full face and neck. People can put 2 and 2 together. They still valiantly try to keep their privacy, before giving up after about a month. Yuri changes his relationship status on Facebook and Otabek hesitantly logs into his dormant account to do the same. The response is immediate. Otabek puts his phone on “do not disturb” to fend off all the notifications and congratulatory calls coming in. It’s been Liked and Shared over 30,000 times by the next morning, and Otabek opens a very long text from Phichit filled with hearts and confetti and smiley faces informing them that he won the betting pool on their relationship status. Phichit even helpfully posts up the past bets (some of which are still running; Michele Crispino currently had 50 euros riding on their ship name being “Otayuri” while Sara was pushing “Yurabek”).

“Katsudon isn’t happy with me,” Yuri says wryly, reading it over Otabek’s shoulder. “I lied to his face last week when he asked what we were. It was his fault for believing me.”

“I think it has more to do with the money he bet on us becoming official by…” Otabek squints and scrolls down. “... getting matching shoulder tattoos that say ‘davai’.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Yuri announces pleasantly. Otabek opens his mouth to defend Japanese Yuuri before realizing he’d confidently bet 12,000 yen on it. That’s $100 USD, the fucker.

“Nevermind, I’ll help you.”

(Later on, Otabek will turn to him and say, “I think Yurabek flows better,” to which Yuri just grins and adds it to his Twitter and Instagram bio.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ap-keya: older sister  
> en-nung: younger brother  
> blintzes: buckwheat pancakes that can be sweet or savory  
> san-san-ku-do: “three three nine times", ritualized drinking of sake by the couple, and sometimes their parents, as a binding ceremony. there are three sakazuiki (ceremonial sake cups) stacked one on top of the other in a tier. Both the bride and the groom sip from each cup three times


	2. time comes to rest when you are by my side (it blurs)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stone - Alessia Cara  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_1P0VSHthVw
> 
> this is actually where i began writing the story; hence why there's a lot of their "firsts"

* * *

 

(clothes)

The first time Yuri wears something of Otabek's, it's one of his v-necks and nobody notices because it's just a plain dark grey shirt. But it's loose on him, and it's suffused with sleep and black leather and whatever body wash Otabek uses; it's the most comfortable and intimate thing in the world to tug the collar up over his nose and close his eyes. Yuri loves the way it smells and it somehow makes the distance easier to cope with. He wears it under his embroidered tiger jacket like a secret, until the scent (and the hickies) begin to fade.

The first time Otabek wears something of Yuri's, it's his signature lucky tiger jacket. He didn't know it was a big deal at the time (he forgot his own jacket, and it was cold) until he sees a picture of himself furiously plastered across Twitter. Yuri's Angels vacillate between extreme jealousy and mouth foaming joy. Otabek's snort of derision is drowned out by a soft "davai" against his ear, and before he can get his bearings back, Yuri gets on his plane. "Won't you need it?" he calls after Yuri, whose cocky reply over his shoulder is, "I don't need luck," and goddammit if Otabek doesn't fall for him all over again.

 

* * *

 

(sick)

 The first time Otabek gets sick when they're together is bad. Really bad. Like, constant dry heaves and migraines bad. He's incapable of eating anything without nausea and makes it worse by insisting on training despite it. Otabek gets through one whole hour of practice... before taking a hard fall on the ice when he's too woozy from his Salchow to regain his footing. Yuri is predictably furious. Everyone saw that coming. What no one saw coming though, was how good he was with Otabek. He brings Otabek anti-nausea pills and bottles of blue (not red) Gatorade and plain crackers. He's sweet, letting Otabek curl miserably with his head in Yuri's lap, soothing away the physical aches and sheer misery in Otabek's muscles. Yuri kisses his forehead, clammy with sweat. "Sleep some more, okay? You're useless to me like this," and Otabek almost wishes he's sick more often to get to hear that tenderness in Yuri's voice.

 

* * *

 

 (nicknames)

 Otabek’s first nickname from Yuri is Beka. The syllables feel fonder, softer than his full name. He gets used to hearing it in conjunction with ideas, teasing, and playful insults. Yuri gets changed to Yura, which is pretty much the only thing Otabek calls him for a while. Yurochka gets added on much later, when Yuri is 19 and Otabek finally hears it from the mouth of his grandfather. For the longest time, he didn’t dare use it. He felt like the name was too personal and nostalgic to appropriate. However, he accidentally says it one day, fond and absentminded as Yuri is chopping carrots for dinner and begging Otabek to dump even more salt into the stew.

“No, you’re going to get hypertension,” is Otabek’s exasperated reply as he stirs in the onions and diced potatoes.

“But it’s so _blaaand."_

“You’re a salty enough person as it is.”

“At least I have taste buds, asshole.”

“Yurochka, at least _taste_ it first,” Otabek says fondly, blowing on the wooden spoon before lifting it to Yuri’s mouth… only to pause at the softened look on Yuri’s face which made him instantly realize what he just said.

“Oh _shit,_ ” Otabek hastens to apologize, flustered and distressed. Yuri is so puzzled until Otabek awkwardly explains why he’s avoided using it and the look grows even softer.

“... I don’t mind when you call me that,” Yuri says softly, one dimple showing as he smiles. “You’re probably the only one besides the old man that I’ll allow it.”

Otabek promptly forgets the stew as Yuri leans up to kiss him, close-mouthed and tender.

 

**::**

 

It’s fun dating someone in three different languages, they both realize. Mostly because it’s really easy to fuck with them without anyone else knowing. Back when they just began flirting with each other, Otabek used to have to Google translate whatever it was Yuri would call him; enduring everything from a syrupy _luchik_ (“My little ray of sunshine,” Yuri cooed) to a lecherous _moy odin yedinstvennyy_ (Otabek gagged a little at being _anyone’s_ one and only) which he countered back with a sarcastic _kotyenok_ (“Kitten, really? So uninspired, Beka.”). Otabek did the same back, and it soon became an inside joke between them to sarcastically hashtag new ones every time they tagged each other on social media. The worse the pet names, the better. Otabek’s only advantage was that it was significantly harder to Google Kazakh terms of endearment. Yuri straight up pouted when he had to give up and ask. The blush and eye roll were worth it (" _What, you don’t like being called my little camel?”_ )

For some reason unknown to both of them, it’s the English nicknames that stuck, and Yuri especially loves the reactions he gets. Once, he made JJ spit back into his own water bottle by answering a phone call from Otabek with “Hey baby, I missed you”. Stoic Otabek almost broke the internet when he tagged Yuri in his first ever #mancrushmonday post on Instagram. It’s a chaste kiss to the side of Yuri’s temple while they're on the bike. The only tag was #bae, and everyone lost their damn minds. Christophe leaves a smug @otabek-altin _called it_ while Phichit excitedly tags everyone they know in the comments _._ But the real kicker was the day Yuri slapped Otabek’s ass in public in a near suicidal moment of bravado, and announced “ _There’s_ my stud muffin,” to which a horrified airport witnessed 10 unbearable seconds of silence... Before Otabek took a deep breath, smiled his shadiest smile, and purred, “ _Sweetheart._ It’s so good to see you.” Natural selection almost weeded Yuri Plisetsky out that day. (But in his defense, it was 100% worth it.)

 

* * *

 

 (sex)

The first time they go all the way is perfect. Not because it was good. They stop and start at least three different times, switching positions after each one proves uncomfortable. Otabek accidentally tears the condom as he’s taking it out of the packet and both of them have to stop what they were doing to find a new one. It’s sweaty and hard on their sore muscles (Otabek is still recovering from a torn rotator cuff and Yuri strained a hamstring the week before). The lube dries up too fast and they keep having to reapply. At some point Yuri has to stop them by throwing his hands onto Otabek’s shoulders, because he was starting to get rawed and chafed. No, the reason it’s perfect is because of the immense care and energy Otabek dedicates to warming Yuri up; gentle and patient for a little over an hour. Even when his hand starts to cramp up. Even when he’s no longer hard. It’s perfect because of the tenderness with which Yuri takes Otabek in his mouth, earnest and persistent and keeping steady eye contact. He checks in when his jaw gets tired and he switches over to his hand, still asking “Fast or slow? Do you want it harder?” Otabek’s soft, ragged inhales before he comes and Yuri’s quiet, unending moans are perfect. Otabek’s lips, soft and full on his stomach, are perfect. Yuri’s hair, brushing against Otabek’s collarbone as he lowers himself down, is perfect. Not being able to look away from Otabek’s dark and half-lidded eyes as the sweat rolls down his neck? Perfect. The fresh bruises purpling prettily on their shoulders, hips, and chests? Gorgeous. Yuri kisses one he made on Otabek’s pec after they roll to the side and discard the condom. They’re tired, sticky, and waiting to cool off enough to cuddle.

“That was…” Yuri trails off. Otabek presses his lips to Yuri’s damp hair. Yuri shuts his mouth, too happy to speak.

“I can’t even believe how lucky I am,” is the quiet confession, and while it’s rare that Otabek has the right words when Yuri doesn’t, he’s always been spot on. Yuri nods and lifts up his head to kiss Otabek again, vulnerable and deep and searching. Otabek answers by cradling Yuri’s hair with one hand, stroking his thumb soothingly at the base of his skull behind his ear, and kissing back. Yuri wants to stay like this forever.

 

* * *

 

 (fight)

They get into what qualifies as their first fight when Otabek's taciturn silences get misinterpreted for not caring and Yuri's brash mouth finally spits out something he can't take back. There’s a lot of fair things to fight about. Making things work long distance; harsh training schedules leaving very little time and physical energy; constant outside pressure causing them both to be short and snappy. What eventually starts the fight  though, is way more petty than that.

“Who the fuck actually likes dogs better than cats?” Yuri snaps, after Otabek spent the first day of his visit in St. Petersburg ignoring Moishe. He was tired and didn’t instantly fawn over or pet her when she strolled over and butted her head against him. Yuri took this as a personal offense.

“I do,” Otabek shrugs indifferently, rolling out a kink in his neck. “Not everyone has to share your exact interests to be valid, Yura.”

“Not everyone’s opinions are valid,” Yuri says back huffily, which is exactly the wrong thing to say. Otabek’s eyes flash in his still face and he carefully bites back his annoyance. Yuri pushes. “Moishe is important to me and you haven’t even looked at her since you got here. She hasn’t seen you in ages.” Which is to say, Yuri hasn’t seen Otabek in ages and the accusation hangs between them. Otabek shrugs it off, like water rolling off a duck’s back. Yuri hates being ignored. _Hates_ it. Especially when he’s shown a bit of vulnerability and is instantly shot down.

“Do you not even care that it’s been months? She’s fucking missed you, you know.”

“Yura, stop yelling at me.”

“I’m not yelling!” He ignores Otabek’s frustrated sigh, only getting angrier.

“I’m sorry I didn’t pet the fucking cat, okay?”

“ _Fuck,_  just forget it,” Yuri snaps.

For a moment, all the tension in the room solidifies, and Moishe takes it as her cue to leave. The next few minutes are brutal, rapid fire as Otabek finally cracks and Yuri fires up and lashes out without thinking. Everything they bring up hurts because there’s a basis of truth somewhere, but brought onto the table under these circumstances only makes them painful. They’re too angry. Yuri’s hurls out a harsh “God, you don’t care about me at all, do you,” before freezing. He’s crossed a line. Otabek looks like he’s been slapped. “Shit... I didn’t...”

But by the time the apology unsticks itself from Yuri’s throat, the door’s already slammed shut. Otabek is 3 flights of stairs down and out the building, all the way to his bike, before he finally stops. He’s shaking, shoulders trembling. It hurts. It hurts a lot.

It takes a long time for Otabek to talk himself out of it, to reason with himself and be fair about what Yuri had said (maybe he _did_ come off as shutting down when he was silent, maybe they both should have planned more visits, maybe…)

He eventually makes it back up to Yuri’s apartment, knocking on the door a few hours later. There’s no answer. He knocks again. It opens, and a red-eyed miserable Yuri greets him. For a moment, neither of them speak. Finally, Yuri whispers, “... I… I don’t want to waste our time together being angry.” He bites his lip, finally making eye contact. “Fuck… Beka, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said…”

Otabek’s voice is worn, like old cashmere. “Can we talk? Please?”

“Yeah. Yeah, come inside. You look cold.”

 

* * *

 

(reassurance)

Sometimes, Otabek feels inadequate. He’s as confident as the next person, but when you’re dating someone who is more or less a prodigy and whom you’ve looked up to for years of your life… It gets to you sometimes, that’s all (Yuuri Katsuki probably understands the feeling best, though Otabek would never ask).

It’s not often, but when Otabek starts going into his little downward spiral of thoughts like that, Yuri has a surprising knack for picking up on his insecurities. Granted, he’s _not_ especially romantic or fond of sappiness, but the look on Otabek’s face is worth it every time, so he sucks it up and learns to be less blunt and more heartfelt. A simple “thank you” becomes a “you’re so thoughtful” with an extra warm smile. An “it’s okay”, when Otabek can’t quite nail a quad, turns into an “I know you’re capable, you can do it”. A “good-night,” especially when Otabek’s feeling vulnerable, turns into a sincere, “I can’t wait to wake up to you."

He gets good at it, _earns_ every hard-won blush and shy smile he gets, and sometimes it’s easier than he thought. The day Katsudon and Victor make gagging noises when he greets Otabek with a low wolf-whistle after a free skate is oddly one of the proudest accomplishments of his life. He knows he’s fucking whipped for this guy if he can out-gross _them._

 

* * *

 

(home)

Yuri isn’t bitter that Otabek comes from a relatively happy, stable family. He’s not. It’s just a very jarring thing for both of them to remember about each other sometimes, like when Otabek asks Yuri what he normally does on the holidays and the answer is a very small shrug.

Yuri doesn’t know what it’s like to come from a big family. He doesn’t know what it’s like to grow up with people his own age or have to share things like bathrooms or parents. It shows when he visits Otabek during the summer when Serik was celebrating his birthday. When Otabek’s family celebrates anything, the _entire_ family comes, and Yuri forgets that extended family is a thing: aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents and even neighbors or family friends. There’s little kids running around everywhere. It’s really loud and boisterous _._ Someone always needs help grilling the meat or setting the table or unfolding the chairs. Yuri can’t talk to anyone without being cheerfully bullied into eating twice as much as is already on his plate. Eventually, Otabek notices his suspicious absence and finds Yuri thirty minutes later, desperately hiding in a corner with six kabobs in one hand and a wild look in his eyes.

Even when it’s just in the context of the two of them alone, it shows. Otabek has a habit of always bringing back an extra latte or pastry for Yuri when he goes out--which touched Yuri, until he realized that it stemmed from a mentality of “what’s yours is mine, and what’s mine is yours”. Otabek just takes bites of Yuri’s food without asking. He _expects him to do the same,_  or worse: comes back with things for him after Yuri’s already said no. It took a lot of conditioning and threatening eyebrows for Otabek to remember to _ask_ and _listen_ and _take what I say at face value dammit._ Until Yuri met his family, he didn’t understand why Otabek had such a hard time grasping this. (Four helpings of the same dish piled on his plate later, Yuri gets it.)

Otabek, on the other hand, isn’t used to just how much solitude Yuri can need. Even years later when they share an apartment, Yuri still gets tense when Otabek comes into the room; still does things like sit on the opposite end of the couch sometimes instead of cuddling up to him. Otabek is a little hurt, doesn’t understand just how _quiet_ being an only child raised by a grandparent can be. The Altin’s home was always bustling, with a person in every area of the house and people walking freely in and out of the room he shared with his brother. It was equipped to be multigenerational, stockpiled with movies and games for the little cousins who visited and with 3 sets of everything for him and his siblings. His parents had their own touch as well; his mother’s throw pillows and bright decorative vases, his father’s computer desk and the electronics he liked to tinker with.

He finally understands when he visits Moscow.

The Plisetsky household is immaculately tidy and geared towards Nikolai’s needs, as he’s the only one living there when Yuri isn’t. They have minimal furniture, a few cozy memorabilia and pictures on the walls, and a gentle quiet that exists at all hours of the day. The radio is always turned low to the Russian news station and the antique grandfather clock occasionally sounds from the corner. By 9 o’clock, the lights are already out and there’s robust snoring coming from the armchair in the living room. Yuri has the luxury of his own room and king-sized bed, which Otabek thinks is nice, but it’s equipped for one boy and his cat, not for guests. Yuri even had to go out and buy a second game controller when Otabek visited, blushing furiously because he’s never needed one before.

Despite that, Otabek finds out just how close Yuri is to his grandfather. Otabek considers his family close, but they function separately and touch base at home. Nikolai and Yuri do everything together. When Yuri is home, they shop for groceries together, take walks together, watch shows and play cards and do chores. Yuri taught him how to use social media so they could keep in touch; which leads to extremely adorable and grammatically proper comments across all his accounts. Nikolai Plisetsky even takes better selfies than Otabek does, which is how Otabek knows his own skills are pathetic. Yuri also really knows his grandfather. He knows him well enough that the kinds of things he buys for Nikolai are always thoughtful and practical: muscle-relaxing ointments for his back and thick wooly scarves; hand-carved pipes or his favorite coffee beans. Meanwhile, Otabek still can’t figure out whether his mother _actually_ uses the scented lotions he gets her or if she’s just been gently humoring him for over a decade.

 

* * *

 

 (cry)

The first time Yuri ever sees Otabek cry, it’s after a grueling free skate he botches due to a fracture in his shin. He barely misses the 100 mark, but it’s enough for him to lose out on bronze. It’s not the physical pain, Yuri realizes, helping him ice it afterwards. It’s the texts from his parents, and while Yuri can’t read Kazakh, he can understand the multiple heart emojis to mean they’re proud of him. Otabek’s breaths go from harsh to harsher as the screen dims and Yuri’s soft “hey, are you okay” dissolves helplessly when he realizes just how not okay Otabek is. Otabek doesn’t answer the texts, and Yuri doesn’t touch him except to move the ice pack. Eventually, Yuri finds the courage to squeeze Otabek’s shoulder, letting the silent tears soak into his shirt, and not let go.

The first time Yuri _makes_ Otabek cry, it feels like he’s fallen wrong and hit rock bottom because _fuck this hurts_ and he hates himself for being the cause of that open pain on Otabek’s face.

Despite having been best friends for years and having dated for 6 months, in all that time, Yuri’s never fucked up hard enough to get _this_ strong of a reaction. The air feels cracked and fragile between them, and he instantly regrets his lack of brain to mouth filter. Yuri forces his body language to be careful and apologetic and watches as Otabek takes a step backwards instead. The silence almost rings with everything Yuri isn’t saying: _I didn’t mean it_ and _Beka I’m sorry_ and _please look at me_.

When Yuri tries to touch him, he jerks away without a word and walks out, snapping when Yuri tries to follow. Otabek cries the way boys are taught to, face turned away so there’s no visible tears. But Yuri sees him discretely wipe his face before putting on the helmet and swear to God, that almost breaks him.

Yuri doesn’t hear from him the entire next day. He goes to bed that night miserable and wakes up after a restless 2 hours to a text that simply says _i need some time._ Yuri swallows hard and deletes 3 different drafts before just texting back with a simple  _okay._

They don't see each other for a few days, but when Yuri gets a text from Otabek saying _open the door_ , he all but runs from his bed.

 

* * *

 

(explaining)

It’s not often Yuri finds himself having to break things down. Otabek is usually very quick on the uptake. When he does have to though, Yuri calls upon all the patience he’s ever picked up from Katsuki in order to make himself clear.

The problem is Otabek’s idea of a healthy approach to conflict is to sit down and calmly talk it out _each_ and _every_ time _._ And for years, Yuri would hold his tongue and try to calmly and rationally work with him. Most of the time, he manages it. Other times, he loses control and watches the hurt flash across Otabek’s face, feeling guilty and disappointed for not handling it as well as Otabek is. He finally breaks it to him 2 years into their relationship.

“Beka... you don’t always have to fix things.”

“What do you mean?” Otabek asks, eyebrows drawn. “How else will we keep it from happening again?”

“But it’s always going to happen again,” he points out logically, for Beka’s sake. Yuri deals in emotions, and Beka in reason. “Not the same fight, but fights… no, not even fights, _arguments_ in general. Sometimes I know exactly what to say and what’s wrong and how to fix it, okay? I do. You’ve taught me that. But honestly? I’ll still want to fight.”

Otabek looks completely baffled, which is good because Yuri thought he’d be offended. “But why?” Otabek _hates_ fighting. 

“Because I can’t help it.” Yuri resettles himself, restless. “Sometimes feelings just… don’t go away. Even if the reason they started in the first place is no longer there, or it’s going to be resolved in the future.”

Otabek considers him, no doubt rehashing everything he’s done in the last few years and berating himself for doing it wrong. Yuri stops it by holding his hand. “I didn’t know that,” Beka says softly. “I thought… Does this not… work? For you?”

“No, it does,” Yuri corrects instantly. “Sometimes it really is important to talk things out and not just scream at each other. I’m glad you do that for me. It’s just…”

Yuri trails off and Otabek’s brief glance is encouraging. 

“... Sometimes I do need us to just yell and fight and cry until it’s all out of me, yanno? I’m not like you,” Yuri admits. “I can’t just put away my emotions and do the right thing and trust they’ll go away. Until it finds an… I don't know, an outlet, it doesn’t _feel_ any better. Even if things _are_ better. Does that make sense?”

Otabek is quietly miserable. “It… does,” he finally manages. “It makes sense.”

“Does it?” Yuri makes a face. “Like, you always resolve it so quickly. But sometimes I’m not _done_ being mad yet and I _know_ it sounds irrational.”

“It’s not that irrational. How come you never told me any of this?”

“I just…" Deep breath. "I felt so stupid. It sounds so petty and makes no sense out loud. I wish I wasn’t so--”

“Hey.” Otabek squeezes his fingers back firmly. “There’s nothing wrong with you. I just didn’t realize what works for me doesn’t always work for you.”

Yuri feels relieved. “So you’re not upset?”

Otabek’s eyes are amused. “Why would I be? I just don’t like fighting. Doesn't mean I can't learn.”

Yuri laughs, surprised. “Learn? Don’t you ever just… want to let it out? I know I say shit that gets to you. You just lock it down so fast I never get to see it.”

“Yeah. Because it might hurt you if I did.” Otabek is still trying to wrap his head around _healthy fighting._ Every fight always feels like a failure on his end, something he could’ve prevented if he’d just said or done something different or if he can just find the right words or actions to fix… it...

 _Ah,_ he catches himself. So that’s what Yuri was talking about.

“If it helps, I never take anything you say personally.” Yuri lifts their hands to his face. “I hope you don’t either?”

“I’ve learned how not to,” is the wry response. “It’s a little hard though, considering some of the things you say.”

“I mean. I usually try to hold back.”

“That’s you _holding back?_ ”

“Thought you knew I was an asshole?”

“ _Shit,_  Yura,” Otabek’s laughing now as Yuri nuzzles into his neck. “If I get over whatever’s been said, sure.”

“You know I love you, right?” Yuri’s voice gets small. “No matter what I might say or how mad I get? I don’t just stop.”

“... Yeah. I knew that.” Otabek sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.

“Like, before the fight,” Yuri clarifies. “And during the fight. And even after the fight.”

“I know.” He sounds more sure this time.

“Good,” Yuri replies as Otabek kisses the top of his head. “Remember that, yeah? Thanks for dealing with my crazy ass.”

“Thanks for dealing with mine.”

 

* * *

 

(style)

“You know, it’s actually really easy to tell when couples have been together for a long time,” Mila remarks one day, watching Victor and Yuuri cross the ice. It was during a rare moment of peace the day before Four Continents; they’d arrived in the city early and decided to go skating on the frozen over local lake. Not for practice; just for fun. She sips on her hot chocolate and waits. Yuri doesn’t bite. Mila smiles, all perfect plum lipstick, and answers anyways. “They start to look the same.” Yuri squints and doesn’t really see it, because Katsudon still looks like Katsudon and Victor still looks like a haute-couture peacock.

Then, he and Otabek hit their two year anniversary. He gets it.

 

**::**

 

At first, they dress _so_ differently.

Otabek’s closet is like American fuckboy meets European aesthetic-blogger; all minimalism and monochromatic colors and practicality. He wears things that are weather appropriate and don’t easily show wear and tear, which makes him always look put together--whether it’s in a hoodie and Nikes or a dark peacoat with aviators. All of this pains Yuri because it’s “so _boring_ ” and “he doesn’t even have to try, fuck” but no one listens to him, especially after a banquet where Mila purrs in admiration “Wow, got you a man who can do _both._ ” (Yuri, watching Beka lazily swirl a champagne flute in his crisp navy blazer, reluctantly agrees.)

Yuri, on the other hand, dresses like he wakes up every morning and tells the mirror, “fuck you, I do what I want.” (Otabek, who eventually ends up sharing a bedroom with him, can sleepily confirm.) Admittedly, his approach is not as pragmatic as Beka, who can blindly reach into his closet at 5 in the morning and pull out 3 random things that match. But it’s a lot more daring and fun, even if he occasionally gets smirky comments like “my, you’re so brave” from Victor or a chuckle of “wow princess, midlife crisis already” from JJ. Fuck ‘em. His #ootd selfies get used _tons_ of times by street-wear bloggers and magazines, so they can suck it. He takes his trends from anything he likes in real life or online, not shying away from animal prints or spikes or intimidating fabrics (he knows he has the body for them anyways). 

After enough subversive birthday presents where he tries to inject personality into Otabek’s clothing, Yuri gives up. It’s no fun when the loud prints and accessories he buys Otabek _still_ look put together on his entirely monochromatic ass. It just looks like he did it on purpose. Whatever.

Yuri doesn’t realize it only looks natural on Beka because he actually wears it often enough for people to be used to Yuri’s touches. Otabek doesn’t notice that Yuri’s subconsciously started toning down his outfits either, grounding them in black or neutrals. They both melt into a comfortable middle ground, until one day, they take a selfie and Yuri is struck by how much they just _look_ like they go together. Like, you could totally tell they were a couple.

“You’ve turned me boring,” Yuri whispers, holding the phone at eye-level, horrified.

“You’ve made me quirky,” Otabek deadpans, and Yuri gives a full-body flinch before hugging him.

“I am **_so_ ** sorry.”

Beka just smiles and pecks him on the cheek. “Don’t be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm a slut for healthy relationships
> 
> i'm also 110% Otabek when it comes to conflict resolution


	3. we don't talk anymore (what was all of it for)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We Don't Talk Anymore - Alex Aiono and Diamond White cover  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r7YvKqiHWg4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and this is where it falls apart

 

* * *

 

(long distance)

They get through their first year together extremely well, because at the time they were just making the transition from being friends.They take turns traveling to visit each other as much as they can; Yuri manages to sweet talk Otabek’s coach into allowing Otabek to train with him and Yakov for two weeks, and Otabek convinces Yuri to divide half of his month off in between Worlds and Four Continents between St. Petersburg and Almaty.

But it’s still many long lonely months in between. Yuri in a relationship is significantly more clingy than Yuri as a best friend, as Otabek discovers, and it wasn’t like Yuri liked how much more keenly he missed Otabek either. Not that he didn’t before--it just was easier before, when he never used to notice the time in between texts or replies. He had different expectations now, and Otabek found himself patiently having to schedule more Skype calls, because texting and private messaging wasn’t quite cutting it. He even goes so far as to download Snapchat because Yuri admitted (after much embarrassment) that he misses seeing his face.

It’s hard. Otabek always leaves behind a sweatshirt or scarf whenever he visits just for Yuri to have something of his when he’s not there, along with a small vial of his cologne for when the scent starts to fade. When he knows Otabek’s had a rough day, Yuri sometimes orders meals online from restaurants around Otabek’s apartment, and has them delivered to his door. They keep their libidos alive through regular phone sex and sending each other nudes (god help anyone sitting next to them if they open Snapchat). Every visit is carefully circled in bright red marker on their calendars.

Year two is significantly more difficult. This year’s circuit includes the 2018 Winter Olympics in Pyeongchang, and they’re both training harder and longer, prioritizing skating over each other. Being professional athletes, they both get it. They understand when a flight has to get pushed back a week because someone needs to focus on nailing a new combo. They understand when the other falls asleep on them for the third, eighth, twentieth time and were too exhausted to pick up the phone. They understand when calls go unanswered until hours later, or texts sit unread in their inboxes for days. Otabek understands when Yuri frantically puts off a long planned weekend in Almaty in favor of rushing to his grandfather’s side for a hip surgery; and Yuri understands as he sits in the waiting room alone that he can’t expect Otabek to take time off to take care of this. Otabek understands when all he gets on rough days are a soothing voice and concerned green eyes over the phone screen instead of a hug.

They do their best; delivering care packages to each others doors stuffed with snacks and plushies and first aid kits (full of painkillers and disinfectant and bandages for bleeding and blistered feet). Otabek practices guitar over Skype with Yuri when he’s not too tired, eventually recording a cover of a lullaby and posting it to Yuri’s wall. Yuri changes the settings to “private” at first, in order to grin and properly savor it, before smugly sharing it with the rest of the public. Otabek has a jar on his nightstand filled with folded handwritten notes from Yuri. The letter that was included with it specified the jar was “for bad days” and had everything from hyperlinks to songs ([ **https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nX4I1HH_WRQ**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nX4I1HH_WRQ)) to funny doodles Yuri scratched out with colored pens. One time, when Otabek’s entire left hip was bruised to black from repeatedly failing to land a quadruple toe loop, the note he pulled out read:

  _hottest things about you:_

  * __your skating__


  * _your goals_


  * _your mouth (around my dick)_



(He immediately takes a picture of the note and sends it to Yuri, whose shameless laughter feels like a warm balm on his bruises).

 

* * *

 

(fading)

The worst thing is that it’s nobody’s fault. Their relationship is loving and functional with both sides actively putting in effort--and yet, slowly, they find themselves becoming two separate people leading different lives. Their fights, which had been so fiery and drawn out in the beginning, turn cold. Disappointment takes the place of yelling, quiet acceptance takes the place of bringing things up.

When you’re dating your best friend, it’s so easy to become each other’s _everything,_ which is the exact place Yuri found himself in one morning, realizing it’s been 3 days since he and Otabek have last talked or replied to anything the other tagged them in on social media. Yuri, starting to recognize his own loneliness and dependence on Otabek, finally starts making friends.

At first, Otabek is happy that Yuri is branching out. He starts to take it hard though, when Yuri’s free time is getting filled by other people and the calls get more infrequent. Otabek isn’t insecure, but he feels like his conversations don’t have much of a draw to Yuri anymore; they only revolve around the same jokes and daily routines and complaints. There isn’t much that’s new to talk about except preparing for the Olympics, and the very thing that connected them starts to become the thing that wears them down.

Otabek doesn’t know how to stop it, and so he takes after Yuri’s cues: starts going out with his own rink-mates and friends in Almaty in his little time off, instead of waiting by a computer until Yuri has logged on.

 

* * *

 

(break up)

“What’s happening to us, Beka?” Yuri asks on the very last visit they have in person. Otabek doesn’t beat around the bush. He knows exactly what Yuri is talking about.

He and Yuri are having a quiet dinner together in a beautiful eclectic bar in Pyeongchang. It’s the night after men’s figuring skating in the Olympics had wrapped up. They’ve both had amazing--no, _phenomenal_ seasons. Otabek had taken an unprecedented bronze for Kazakhstan and Yuri a hard-earned silver. At the _fucking Olympics._ Yuri had scooped Otabek into his arms and ecstatically swung him around after the medal had been put on. They cried into each other’s necks, until everything, the roar of the crowds, the lights from the cameras flashing all around them, everything melted into white.  

After furious pictures and interviews with reporters ( _Mr. Altin! MR. ALTIN!!! You’ve just made_ **_history_ ** _and brought your country into the spotlight, how does it feel?!),_ after calling their families and screaming over their victory ( _BEKA, you_ **_did_ ** _it!!! Yurochka, I’m so proud of you!),_ after they’ve been tagged by everyone they know on social media ( _v-nikiforov GIVE IT UP FOR THE HISTORY MAKERS, THEY DID IT @otabek-altin @yuri-plisetsky_ ) after trending at number 2 on Google… They both find themselves finally alone with each other.

Otabek is swirling his drink around his glass, staring at the ice cubes clinking around the bottom. One of the headlines he’s read had listed them as the power couple of the Olympics: **"** ** _ **Yurabek** Takes The Podium By Storm!” _** They’re focused on them as a package deal, playing up the romantic aspect of it. There are people out there listing them as #relationshipgoals, and Otabek has difficulty even holding Yuri’s gaze. Yuri, backlit by the electric skyline of Pyeongchang, is the most heartbreakingly beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“I don’t know, Yura,” Otabek admits quietly. Yuri’s eyes, for the first time, waver.

It took everything they both had for those medals. All the bruises still yellowing under their clothes. All the blood that slicked the lining when their skates came off. All the microfractures. It cost them every hour and weekend of the last year of their lives.

And quite possibly, it has cost them their relationship.

 

::

 

They fight it.

But after the Olympics, after that night in Pyeongchang, they have to admit it to themselves.

Something wasn’t working.

 

::

 

_“Do you think we were better off as friends?”_

The phone almost slips from Otabek’s fingers. _This isn’t happening. Just breathe. Don’t--_

“Do you?” he whispers hoarsely.

The silence is deafening, and Otabek knows, without Yuri even speaking, without even seeing his eyes, what the answer is.   

“ _Maybe.”_

 

* * *

 

(healing)

Yuri doesn’t leave his bed for days. They keep their break up quiet, not wanting to draw attention to each other, and a whole month passes where Yuri can still look at Otabek’s name every time he opens his Twitter bio, can still pretend his relationship status on Facebook actually reflects his real life situation. In real life, Yuri is gutted. He can’t breathe without something hurting deep in his lungs, heart heavy on his ribs. In real life, Otabek walks into rooms and forgets why he’s there, accidentally drops glasses that cut his hands. In real life, Otabek showers without moving, and Yuri goes to sleep in Otabek’s sweatshirts that no longer smell like him. Otabek starts riding his motorcycle until 2, 3, 4 in the morning trying to tire himself out enough for sleep.

In their life, everyone knows. Mila actually takes it on herself to visit Yuri in person, and the gentle “ _sweetheart_ ” she murmurs when he picks her up at the airport is enough to crack Yuri’s smile and bring back the tears. Yakov and Lilia (both on separate occasions) have sat down next to him and gently shared the story of their own marriage and divorce; living proof that eventually things do get better, that it was still possible to see each other again and work together again. Serik is the one who surprises Otabek the most. His brother, who never acknowledged his relationship, who still does not understand how sexuality and love and morality intertwine, comes to Otabek’s apartment and softly says, “I want to understand.” He lets Otabek erupt with all the stories and leftover pieces of Yuri that no longer had a place in his life: his favorite songs, the name of his cat, the recipe for his katsudon pirozhki. Serik hands him paper towels because they ran out of tissues a while ago, and lets him cry without judgment, lets his older brother be weak in front of him and comes out respecting him more. “I see why you loved him,” Serik says finally, after Otabek’s throat hurts too much to speak and he stops. “Love,” Otabek corrects, balling up the paper towel. “He’s still my best friend.”

“Is he?” Serik asks gently, and fuck that hurts so much that Otabek finally understands what it means to get the wind knocked out of him. The air leaves his lungs even as he’s inhaling.

Serik’s face changes instantly. “I’m sorry Beka, I didn’t mean--”

“No, you’re right.”

Losing your boyfriend is one thing. Losing your best friend is another.

Losing both at the same time? There aren’t even words for that. Just pain. Just emptiness, as empty as the stars Otabek rides under, as empty as the jar of notes he dumped out to read, as empty as Yuri’s eyes when he hits repeat one more time on Otabek’s lullaby.

 

* * *

 

(moving on)

They do end up eventually dating other people. Otabek finds her through his old friend circles back home, someone he’d grown up alongside but never crossed paths with (because by the time they would’ve gone to the same school together, he’s been sent to America, and then to Canada, and then Russia). They were kids back then, but they’re older now; and there’s admiration and attraction, and it’s _nice_ , to hear her stories of university, and current events, and just things he never paid attention to. It’s nice to have a part of his life that _isn’t_ related to or touched by skating. Otabek finds himself actually enjoying their conversations enough to keep having them, over texting and occasional dinners on the weekends he’s not feeling exhausted. Kamila is so comforting and stable and _safe_ because… she exists in the same town, the same city block, the same time zone as him. She doesn’t argue, only nods and accepts things calmly, and it’s so simple with her.

As for Yuri, one of Yuri’s rink mates ends up making out with him against the lockers after practice one day, and the friends with benefits situation slowly turns into a staying-over-at-each-others-apartments-because-it’s-convenient situation to a making-breakfast-for-each-other-because-they-might-as-well   situation. Eventually, it turns into something that’s pretty much dating without a label. Alexei is wheat-blonde and wickedly sarcastic and convenient... but also comfortable and _easy_ in a way Yuri never got to have with Otabek. The luxury of just walking up to him after practice instead of waiting on Skype until he logged on; the simplicity of holding his hand when he missed him, instead of hugging the stuffed animal Alexei got for him. Being able to rely on someone for rides, and tangible support, like hot bowls of borscht or zharkoye when he’s sick. And maybe that's enough, when Yuri feels butterflies in his stomach again. Maybe this was what he needed.

 

* * *

 

(staying friends)

Yuri congratulates him when Otabek hesitantly tells Yuri over text; their friendship is still raw from the break up, but he’s always been Otabek’s best friend. That shows now, even though the little text bubbles appear and disappear as Yuri tries to figure out what to say. A smiling emoji is all he sends back eventually. Otabek eventually stops comparing Kamila’s thick black waves to Yuri’s fine blond hair; stops comparing her sweetness to his fire; stops comparing them because he’s starting to finally see someone not in terms of his ex, but in terms of who they are to him. 

As for Yuri, he and Alexei are starting to appear in each other’s social media more and more, and Otabek even likes a few of their pictures. Otabek’s happy for him, and when Yuri Skypes him on one of their more infrequent calls, they can talk more easily without the unending ache of missing each other.

Eventually, Yuri’s able to smile when Otabek talks about a date they went on, and Otabek is able to give advice to Yuri on how best to ask his rink mate out. Their friendship survives, indestructible, even if the times they speak are a few texts every 3 months or so. They don’t get assigned to the same brackets, and in China, Yuri accepts a bouquet of roses and a kiss from Alexei--while in France, Otabek gets a call from Kamila who’d stayed up to livestream the entire competition despite her exam the next day.

 

* * *

 

(unraveling)

It starts breaking down like this:

“I know you never got over him,” Alexei yells at him as they’re leaving the restaurant.

They were no longer rink mates; after China, his boyfriend got assigned to a new coach and a different rink. They hadn’t seen each other in 3 weeks at this point; both struggling with exhaustion and never being free. Alexei doesn’t spend the night anymore, unable to wake up at 4 am to make the commute to his own rink and Yuri sometimes forgets to answer his texts until days later. During this entire time, Yuri has little support except for occasional Skype calls from Yuuri Katsuki when the other wakes up in Japan, or the memes Otabek still sends him during their breaks. He ends up talking to Otabek a lot more, feeling lonely, and Otabek is a soothing presence to remind him exactly what texts not to send and exactly when apologies were called for. They try, and try, but Yuri isn’t prepared for the pinched look on Alexei’s face when he hurls that accusation at him.

“What does he have to do with anything,” Yuri returns hotly, and is horrified when he sees tears at the corner of their eyes. “What the fuck?”

“Why does your best friend have to be your fucking ex?” Yuri’s eyes flash. “Don’t you have anyone else you can talk to?”

“You’ve never had a problem with us talking before!” Yuri snaps. That touched a nerve.

“Yeah, because I _liked_ him and I trusted you, but just… Yuri, how do you think it makes me _feel_ to know that I’ll never have your history or friendship? I was there when you broke up, I was there after you broke up, and sometimes it still feels like that part never ended.”

And... he has a point there. Yuri can’t deny it, even if he hates it, because Otabek isn’t just any ex. He’s The Ex. Alexei has a right to feel threatened by how close they still obviously are.

“Like I get it,” Alexei continues, choked up. “You rub it in my face every fucking day, but I hate knowing _he’s_ the one who still has to fix your damn mistakes for me! Like _even now._ I have him to thank for half your apologies and--don’t _argue;_ I know he’s the one you tell all our drama to and ask for advice from! And I can’t stop you from doing it because you don’t have anyone else!”

Yuri’s eyes flash, and his hair tears around his shoulders as he stalks away angrily. “If you’re going to tear me a new one at least take it out of the street!”

“Fuck you.”

They break up a week later. There’s wild speculation in the tabloids and Yuri is left with his head in his hands, refusing to tell anyone except Yuuri Katsuki and Mila about it. He doesn’t mention that he broke up to Otabek until a month and a half later, when the other asks how his boyfriend is doing.  

 

::

 

Otabek’s relationship lasts for a little over one quiet, uneventful year before Kamila asks him, “Do you ever miss him?” Otabek, who had been sitting on the couch with her in his arms, stiffens.

“Who?” he asks, because they were in the middle of watching a new Netflix series. He forgets the name, but the main character has just threw up in a club while having vague hallucinations of their ex. He’s a little insulted that she brought it up.

“Yuri,” Kamila answers, and they’re both too honest with each other for him to say anything but what she already knew.

“Yes,” he says softly into her hair. “All the time.”

“He’s your best friend,” she agrees. She shuffles in closer. “You used to fight a lot with him, didn’t you?”

These questions are coming out of nowhere tonight. “I suppose we did.”

“He’s very… different than me. Isn’t he?”

Otabek carefully turns down the volume to look at her. She’s not making eye contact. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

She’s silent until she throws him another curveball. “Are you... happy, Beka? With us?”

What the fuck. “Why wouldn’t I be? Kamila, is everything okay?”

He can see the heaviness in her eyes, and feels more than sees the tears slip down her chin and drop onto his shirt. He’s now thoroughly alarmed.

“We never fight.”

“Excuse me?” None of these questions seem connected anymore, and Otabek can’t even begin to follow the line of reasoning.

“We never fight,” she repeats. “You’ve gotten or had flowers delivered to me every time I’ve ever been sick. You’ve never missed a Skype date or a text message. I can’t name one thing you’ve done wrong.”

Otabek has never been more confused in his life.

“It took me almost a year to finally say I love you to you, and you never asked. You never got impatient or insecure or wondered why it took so long. Most people would ask, Beka.” Her voice struggles to remain steady, and she pulls up her sleeve to dab at her chin. Otabek doesn’t know what to do at this point, sits them both up and gives her a little space, hand on her thigh.

“Babe…”

“I never said it, even though I’d felt it for a long time,” she admits quietly. “Because I was never sure if you felt the same way back. If you ever cared or needed to hear it.”

Otabek feels cold now.

“You make me happy, Beka. You’re perfect. I couldn’t ask for anyone better. But you also make me feel so lonely I can’t stand it sometimes. I know that this isn’t what you need. I’m not what you need.”

“How would you know what I need,” he asks numbly, her words tearing their peaceful evening into sections, like paper being ripped in half. They aren’t whole anymore, and he has no idea where this is coming from, but he doesn’t correct her… because some honest part of him is afraid at how well she sees something that he completely missed within himself. He’s not happy. He’s content and safe and it’s not the same.

“I don’t _know._  I don’t know if you need another ice skater or someone who’s just willing to yell at you. I just know that I’ve always gotten the best of you, but Yuri’s gotten _everything,_ all of you. You told me that you fought a lot back then, and at first... I couldn’t imagine you losing your temper or storming out or doing any of those things. I thought we were lucky. I thought it was all him.”

She’s composed now as she looks straight ahead and spells it out for him. “It’s not. He brings out sides of you that I can’t even scratch the surface of. He’s made you cry and pissed you off and… Beka, I wondered why you never said I love you to me either. And I think…”

Otabek’s stopped breathing.

“I don’t know if you’ve ever fallen out of love.”

He kisses her on the forehead and leaves early that night. They don’t speak for the next few days. When they break up, finally, Kamila mirrors his kiss on the forehead.

“I want you to be happy,” she whispers to him.

They don’t cry, but they don’t speak for a long time after that either. Yuri has no idea, and when he finally does find out, all Otabek tells him is, “We just didn’t work out.”


	4. you’re away and i’m away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like You Used To - Kidnap Kid  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n37rlEsHX7Q

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter got a little bit ahead of me, but they both do a lot of growing up here
> 
> also yes, okay, i made Otabek literally bike around 3 continents and an island too
> 
> that may have had more to do with it
> 
> enjoy!

 

* * *

 

(competitions)

They see each other again at Worlds and at first it’s just like old times again. And yet, also nothing like before. Yuri’s routine has turned sophisticated and polished since he was 15, becoming magnetic without playing too hard on seduction. Unfortunately, due to a knee injury, his landings are shaky and he actually hits the ice before rolling to smoothly recover. Otabek no longer relies solely on difficult techniques and intensity; he focuses on building a story now instead, and Yuri tries not to wonder who Otabek thinks of when he’s skating. Yuri actually does not make the podium this year, due to Seung Gil Lee having some sort of emotional awakening and skating his entire soul out to steal bronze. Otabek makes silver by the skin of his teeth because Phichit came out of _nowhere_ with his jumps; he finally mastered a quadruple salchow and double toe loop combination to add to his already vibrant routine. He’s like a little firecracker on the ice; all wild joy and purity. He placed gold. Yuri honestly can’t even find it in himself to be too upset, because Phichit and Thailand deserve this moment. Also, at least Seung Gil isn’t JJ. (Granted, JJ only didn’t compete because Isabella was expected to deliver, but _still_.)

Otabek and Yuri are both fond of Phichit, and so they actually make an effort to attend the banquet and celebrate instead of ditching out like they normally do. They make it exactly one hour in before Yuri sidles up to Otabek and mutters “I see Giacometti, do not make eye contact, I _repeat,_ do not make eye contact.” Otabek accidentally sprays bruschetta crumbs out in horrified laughter, and they both hastily beat a retreat before the (now traditional) pole dancing clusterfuck can begin.

It’s the first time they’ve met in person since they broke up, and at first, it’s almost stunning how effortless it all is. Keeping in contact definitely helped ease them into it. It’s easy to spend most of their time catching up on half finished stories and news that they never shared, and by the time they get through everything, they’ve been talking for so long that it doesn’t feel awkward or surreal to be next to each other.

“Here’s to next year,” Yuri toasts to them. “Congrats on silver.”

Otabek smiles and taps his mug to Yuri’s. They both got something non-alcoholic and hot, and they’re at peace… for all of five minutes. They hear frantic tapping on the window and turn to find themselves face to face with Yuri’s Angels.

 

* * *

 

(deja vu)

“Run,” Yuri says calmly, and Otabek slaps some bills down before they take off.

This isn’t Barcelona, and there is no motorcycle this time, but as he and Yuri try to run and lose their fans, he finds himself laughing and panting and everything feels like… like they’ve never left. Eventually they duck behind a statue in the park and their figures get mistaken for shadows: Yuri’s Angels rush past them and Yuri heaves a sigh of relief.

“Already picturing the headlines?” Otabek asks. Yuri winces.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think they’d follow me here… again.”

“It’s fine. They’re probably freaking out that we’re back together,” Otabek muses, and they’re both okay enough with the break up that they can laugh about it.

Finding their way back to the hotel is a bit of a struggle (their phone are at less than 5%), but even this misadventure brings memories back as well. Otabek can’t figure out what it is. He can’t put his finger on why this city they’ve never been in before feels so familiar. Until he realizes... It’s not the city. It’s Yuri. It’s the way Yuri looks at him, they way they still laugh together, the ease with which all of these moments can exist without anxiety or longing. They reach the hotel, and Yuri seems to be having the same kinds of thoughts, if the vulnerable look on his face is anything to go by.

“Well, good night,” Yuri says, tucking a strand of hair nervously behind his ear. That’s familiar too. It slips back, and Otabek puts it into place for him without thinking. Yuri freezes.

This is too close.

“Good night, Yuri,” Otabek says, stuffing his hands safely back into his jacket pockets. He turns away to go to his own hotel room, before hearing, “It’s Yura.”

Otabek stops walking. Turns. Yuri’s lips are lifted just at one corner, and Otabek’s heart expands a little upon seeing it.

“Good night, Yura,” Otabek corrects himself.

“Sleep tight, Beka. Have a safe flight. Text me when you land?”

“Sure thing.”

 

* * *

 

(relearning)

Friendship is easier now than it was before. They both have different lives going at this point, and talking is sporadic, spread out over the course of weeks and months with occasional calls in between. They can be talking for as little as 10 minutes while running errands or for as long as 4 hours lying on their beds. Either way feels satisfying, and they never end a phone call wishing for more; they’re simply satisfied and pleased with everything between them.

Watching each other grow and change happens in increments. To their surprise, they find that sometimes they’ve switched roles. Yuri has become the more relaxed and receptive one, while Otabek has become more vocal and doesn’t hesitate to reach out first. Their favorite foods have changed, little habits have disappeared that used to define them, but at the core, they’re still familiar. This isn’t the same person they fell in love with before, but they can recognize that their feelings have evolved along with them.

 

* * *

 

(plus one)

“Hey, so…” Otabek chews on his lip nervously. “Atiya’s getting married.”

Yuri gasps on the other end of the line. “ _HOLY SHIT."_

“Yeah. The wedding’s in a month. The invitation just came in the mail.” Actually, Otabek’s known about the wedding for ages, ever since they announced their engagement (he’s family, of course he knows). Yuri is either politely pretending or he already is aware. Otabek steels himself and says as casually as he can, “It says to check if I’m bringing a plus one.”

Silence.

Shit. Did he overstep?

“It’s… It’s fine if you can’t, I understand if you can’t take the time off, it is in the middle of the season and--” Oh great he’s rambling, now Yuri can _definitely_ tell this isn’t something casual. With great difficulty Otabek stops himself and ends with, “Just… let me know if you’d be interested?”

He’d already asked Atiya about the wiseness of this gesture, and been answered with a shrug. “You know yourself best,” she replied neutrally. “He’s _your_ ex.”

Translation: Of course this is a terrible idea. But I like him and support your dumb ass decisions. Just don’t let them affect my wedding day.

 _“I don’t mind,”_ Yuri answers, jarring Otabek out of his spiral of internal panic. “ _It’s… been a long time since I’ve seen your family anyways. Can you send me a copy of the gift registry?”_

Otabek heaves a silent sigh of relief, and they both scroll through it together online.

 

::

 

Yuri arrives a day early to get settled in and also help out with last minute arrangements. He’s staying at Otabek’s apartment, since there currently was no extra room at the Altin house. Otabek, filled with nerves, quickly offers his room and takes the two seater couch for the night. He gets maybe 4 hours of sleep, and all his dreams involve memories that fade when the sunlight touches his eyelids. Yuri looks deceptively well rested, when the truth was he actually just _hasn’t slept_ and decided to use his time to text Yuuri Katsuki from an ocean away for help.

 

* * *

 

_12:39 am_

_this is a terrible idea_ _  
_ _im sleeping in his bedroom_  
_this brings back so many memories_

 

 _12:45 am_  
_You’re the one who accepted_ _  
__You and Otabek are both grown adults_  
_I’m sure you will be fine :)_

 

 _12:52 am_ _  
_ _what if his family still hates me?_ _  
_ _does atiya even want me here???_  
_fuckkkk_

 _1:03 am_  
_it feels fuckin weird sleeping in here alone_ _  
_ _should i drink?_ _  
_ _at the reception_ _  
_ _what if i black out and kiss him_

 

_1:11 am_

_Hmm….Victor says yes_

_I think it will calm your nerves_  

_1:14 am_

_It worked for Yuuri! <3 - Victor_

 

_1:16 am_

_tell him im not trying to slut my way into_  
_getting Beka back to Russia, thanks_

 

* * *

 

Yuri had never been to a Muslim or Kazakh wedding before, so when Atiya’s husband turns out to be neither, Yuri is in shock.

“Your sister has fucking guts,” Yuri whispers to Otabek, who only mutters back, “You have no idea.”

Apparently she met him while finishing up her master’s in America, and the couple had diplomatically celebrated the religious and traditional parts of the wedding before Yuri had flown in (he couldn’t get the time off that early). So really, Yuri missed out on all the culture and only got the reception. He’s a bit put out. Luckily, the plentiful dishes and colorful outfits some of the guests wore tipped off the fact this was still, in fact, a multicultural wedding. None of the Altin’s or the Kahananui’s appear to be bitter so Yuri can only assume that Atiya and Joseph had their blessing.

Under the guise of listening to the best man’s speech, Yuri watches Otabek, safely thinking the other isn’t paying attention. It’s a little painful how familiar this all is. Otabek hasn’t changed much over the years; his face is still all sharp angles, softened only by the small, subtle details Yuri remembers. Like the caramel undertones in his skin or his pale freckles that are only here now that it's summer. Otabek has loosened his tie sometime since he sat down, and it’s impossible not to notice his neck and jawline as he tilts his chin onto one wrist and listens. Yuri only notices the watch he's wearing afterwards. Yuri had gotten him that for a birthday present.

 

::

 

Yuri drinks a lot of champagne that night because a) his mouth keeps going dry every time he looks at Otabek and b) because he needs it. Badly. Especially when Otabek turns to him under the strings of tea light lanterns, and says “Dance with me, Yura?”

He knows this is going to hurt in the morning. Which is why Yuri says “sure” and spends the entire time focusing on pretending. Pretending they’re still how they were before. Pretending he doesn’t have to fly home tomorrow and there aren’t miles and competitions and history separating them. Pretending they were back at Victor and Yuuri’s wedding from 5 years ago; when things were simple and the world was in Otabek’s eyes when he looked at him.

Just… _like… now._

They’re kissing. When did they do that? _How did that happen?_ Yuri firmly tells himself to flinch away, but _god his mouth_ and Otabek's undercut feels so soft under Yuri’s fingers and yeah okay, the alcohol was working. Otabek is the more (relatively) sober of the two, so he immediately pulls back when Yuri turns away gasping. He tilts Yuri’s chin up and is floored when he sees the look on Yuri's face. Fuck.

“Yura? What’s wrong?” Yuri just shakes his head and Otabek takes it as a cue to pull away. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinki--”

Yuri catches his hand. “Stop. Beka just let me pretend.”

_… What?_

“Yura? Let’s get you some water, okay?” Otabek urges gently but Yuri firmly plants his (swaying) feet and shakes his head.

“No. _No_ ‘cause then we’re jus’ gonna go back to how things _are_ and… and I don’ _want_ that.”

Oh Yuri. Otabek is weak enough and selfish enough to want the same thing. “I don’t want you to regret this in the morning,” he tries again, and Yuri’s surprisingly firm stare locks him into place. 

“I won’. I’ve nev’r regretted anything with you.”

Fuck it.

 

::

 

They wake up the next morning in Otabek’s bed. Yuri checks the time and groans when he realizes his flight leaves in 3 hours. They slowly get dressed and Otabek only breaks once when he turns to find the warm curve of Yuri’s body facing away from him, white-gold hair tangling down to the small of his back. Yuri is startled when Otabek wraps his arms around him from behind, his forehead coming to rest on Yuri's shoulder. “I wish you didn't have to go.”

They stay like that for a while. Pale dawn light washes down the walls, while outside, sparrows are starting to call to one another. Neither of them are willing to move.

 

::

 

Otabek waits for Yuri’s plane to leave the tarmac before he finally pulls his helmet on, visor flipped down. He drives without looking up; not even when the plane screams overhead once he hits the road; not even when it smoothly disappears into the horizon in front of him.

 

* * *

 

(broken)

They're everywhere. Otabek can't take his eyes off the images, can't take in words like _spine misalignment_ and _stress fractures_ and _honestly I'm amazed you've lasted this long._

It happens when he's finally unable to get up one morning from the sheer agony in his lower back. Otabek's no stranger to aches and pains in his body, but usually he's able to bite his lip and skate through it. It's not a problem until it becomes a problem.

His coach arranges an appointment with a sports therapist, who turns him over to a specialist, who is now pointing out the results of his MRI to him.

He tells him that 6 years of skating without major injury was an honest miracle, that it’s actually not falling that’s hardest on the body--it's constantly being forced to land on the same leg, over and over again. The high G-force from a landing is anywhere from _8 to 10 times_ his own body weight. Otabek jumps up to 40 times just during practices alone.

 _This is the kind of thing that gets worse over time._ He doesn't say it to Otabek's face but Otabek knows. _You wouldn't be able to walk anymore, if you kept this up._ _I'd take some time to think it over._

 

* * *

 

(retiring)

Otabek doesn't announce his retirement so much as the rumors seep out from various sources and he doesn't deny them. Yuri gets worried. Especially when his worst fears are confirmed as Otabek's coach speaks out on his behalf and announces that it's official. Otabek Altin, former Olympic bronze medalist. Otabek Altin, the first Kazakhstani male figure skater to make it to the international stage. Otabek Altin, 6 time ISU medalist, is retiring at age 25.

 

::

 

He shows up at Otabek's door apropos of nothing. Okay, maybe it hadn't exactly been _nothing_ . Otabek stopped answering his texts, and then eventually his calls, and maybe he shouldn't have told Yuri about his injury and ended it with “ _I don't know what to do anymore.”_

Perhaps that had been a little concerning.

“You still remember where I live,” Otabek observes, which, of course--they've only sent packages to each other every month for two years. Yuri politely ignores him.

“Can I come in?”

Otabek wordlessly opens the door. As Yuri sets his duffle bag down, it finally registers to Otabek why he's really here. “How did you get the time off?”

Yuri lifts one shoulder, lets it fall. Doesn't tell him about the pitying look in Yakov’s eyes when he'd told him where he was flying to and why. “Yakov and Lilia send their regards.”

Otabek’s mouth sets back into the familiar thin frown of his youth.

“I don't need pity, Yura.”

Yuri shockingly does not fire up at that.

“No, you don't,” Yuri agrees. “But I brought a shit ton of ice packs and I'm good with massages.” Otabek doesn't say anything, only goes to the closet to get the extra blankets and a pillow. Yuri doesn't miss his wince as he reaches for them, or the back brace that peeps out from under his shirt.

“Did you talk to your coach?”

Still no answer. Very warm welcome he was getting then.

“The prognosis for this is supposed to be 12 weeks,” Otabek says suddenly, dropping the blankets on the couch. Yuri knows. He looked up everything he could on spondylolysis. He knows it gets better. He also knows that it comes back.

“That's good,” he says instead. “You're going to heal from this. This isn't the end of the world, Beka--”

“Just the end of my career.”

Yuri looks to the ground.

Otabek is frustrated. Helpless. For as long as Yuri’s known him, his body has never let him down before.

“We don't have to talk about it,” Yuri offers without looking at him. “I've been meaning to visit anyways. Show me around?”

 

::

 

Otabek does not adjust to retirement gracefully. Hell, he isn't adjusting, period.

When he's not openly devastated, he's completely empty. Yuri, who was only able to take a week off before he has to leave, is worried sick. Otabek is going through the motions of being a functioning adult just to keep Yuri happy, but he's only eating when reminded, unable to sleep very well at night.

He’s… difficult. Yuri doesn't know what he expected his presence to do, but no matter how much he cooks or helps Otabek with physical tasks like going down stairs or lifting things from the floor or getting out of bed... He feels useless, unable to fix what's actually wrong.

Most people _start_ their lives at this age, having spent years waiting until they finished school, until they established a career, until they got married. Otabek had already achieved his dreams by the age of 22. At 25, suddenly, it's all over. He's done, but there's no straight line from here on out to replace the years of single minded dedication towards one goal. He's lost his purpose, and neither of them know where to find another one.

Yuri bites his lip, watching Otabek quietly nap on his bed, finally overcome with sleep.

Otabek's body is going to heal. But his mind, his goals, his identity, have all been crushed. Yuri doesn't know how to fix any of those. As talented a skater as he proved to be, coaching wasn't meant for everyone. Otabek could feasibly become one later on in life, as the next generation of Kazakhstani skaters carried on his legacy. But that is so much later, and this is right now.

 

::

 

When Yuri finds him smoking alone on the steps, he's shocked and disappointed. “Since when did you start doing that,” Yuri asks roughly, knuckles curling at his sides. Otabek lets the end of the cigarette burn before allowing it to fog out of his mouth.

“Before you came to visit.”

“Beka, what the fuck? We're skaters. Put that shit out.”

“We're not,” Otabek says simply, taking another drag. “ _You_ are.”

Yuri doesn't have the patience anymore for this. After a solid week of walking on eggshells and being sympathetic and holding his tongue, he blows up. “Who _are_ you? This isn't like you!”

“I don't _know!"_  Otabek shouts back, catching them both by surprise: not with the volume, but the unexpected show of emotion. The cigarette falls onto the pavement and he puts it out without looking. “I don't _know_ who I am anymore! What do I even do every day besides wait for my bones to heal!” Otabek’s voice cracks and he looks away. “I know who I was _,_ but I can’t _be_ him anymore and... That can't be all I'm ever going to be.”

The desperation with which he says that hurts Yuri. Proud, stubborn Beka.

“I can't live in my own shadow for the rest of my life,” Otabek whispers. “Another me has to start _now_ but I don't… I don't even know who I am without skating.”

“I do.”

Otabek waits. When Yuri answers, he isn't soft or sentimental.

“You're Otabek Altin. You were and still are the first from your _country_  to ever win an Olympic medal for men’s singles skating. You _made_ _history,_ Beka! And no one can ever take that away from you. No matter who comes after, or what you become after, you'll always have that.”

Otabek lets that sink in, trembling, but Yuri isn't finished. “You're not just your ice skating. You're so much more than that. You taught yourself to ride a fucking motorcycle. You know how to play the guitar and you're an amazing cook and you're such a stubborn son of a bitch that no matter what you do, you eventually become good at it.”

Yuri stops himself, seems to internally debate whatever he has to say, before he adds on hesitantly: “And you're my best friend. The first friend I ever made. That has to count for something.”

“It does.”

Yuri's words didn't make everything better. But they helped Otabek a lot more than he thought they would have.

 

* * *

 

(depression)

Otabek doesn't find the word for it until the day after Yuri leaves back to Moscow. _Depression._ It's different than he imagined it would be. Otabek has never dealt with anything like this before, has always been mentally healthy. He knows it the second he finds himself alone.

Yuri couldn’t have helped him with this.

 

::

 

His reflection feels like a stranger, like looking into a parallel universe he never accounted for or believed in.

He doesn’t recognize this numb, unresponsive Otabek who won’t do _anything._ The little flickers he does recognize aren’t helpful either. All his worst traits are coming out in new and self-defeating ways. His single-mindedness has turned into fixation, his natural quietness into paralysis. His immediate, overpowering instinct is still always to _protect_ , but now he does it by pushing everyone away--so they don’t have to hurt when they look at him or experience this horrifying emptiness with him.

He didn’t know it could feel like this. Empty in all the moments he’s supposed to feel anger or joy or sadness. He didn’t know he could wake up already tired, has never wished for his days to be over just so he didn’t have to go through with them.

He’s scared.

Otabek doesn’t know what to do now in the timeless stretch that goes on and on into a direction he can’t see. He sees the minutes, hours, and days funnel into nowhere.

 

::

 

Yuri still checks up on him, lighting up his phone with texts and notifications. Otabek doesn’t reply often, for reasons he’s not proud of.

He’s homesick, for the ice, for the arenas he’ll never have reason to set foot in again, for his place on the podium by Yuri’s side.

And Yuri... Yuri is still golden and young, still strong and in his prime, unstoppable in a world that Otabek has no place in anymore. So he takes himself out of it.

They get distant again.

 

* * *

 

(spark)

He doesn’t really know what spawns the idea, but the only times when he feels like himself again are when he’s on his bike. That’s something that’s never changed, but the roads around Almaty start to get too circuitous for him; like he’s trapped inside the veins of his city, old blood pumping endlessly into a failing heart.

He needs to get out.

 

::

 

It starts with a map. And then an idle Google Search. A week later it turns into 12 tabs all open to travel riding blogs and before he knows it, he’s alive again in a way he hasn’t been since he announced his retirement. After weeks of doing his research and tuning up his bike and buying the necessary tools and supplies, he lets his parents and siblings in on the plan. At first they seem a bit alarmed, before sinking into relief that he sounds almost normal again.

“Beka,” his mother says to him as he’s packing over the phone, “How long will you be gone?”

“I’m not sure, sheshe,” he says distractedly, trying to fit a tool-kit into the backpack before looking around for more socks, “I just know I can’t stay here any longer. It’s…” He cuts himself off, unsure of how to finish. Almaty has always been his first home, but it isn’t anymore. It’s hard to put that into words, especially to his mother.

“I see.” She doesn’t. “I’ll send you money,” she manages at last, accepting it. “No arguments,” as if she can already hear Otabek’s protests. “I know you’re grown. But you’ve always been grown, even when you were little. Let us take care of you, for once. Please.”

“You don’t have to,” Otabek says out of habit. “Sheshe, I still have money saved up, from my winnings and sponsors, and it’s not… It’s not going anywhere. I don’t have coaching fees to pay anymore. It’s okay.”

He hears a watery laugh over the line. “Still so stubborn.” He can’t deny that. “Your father always said that I babied Serik too much. And we were too hard on Atiya… But you’ve always been so easy to care for. Maybe it’s because you always took care of yourself.”

And Otabek knows that tone in her voice, even if he hasn’t heard it in years. It’s the same one she used when he picked up the phone in Canada during his first weeks leaving the continent. The one that greeted him over the computer when he came to Russia. She’s used to letting him go, he realizes. But this is the first time she doesn’t know where he’s going or what it’s for.

“I wonder sometimes if you got used to doing it all on your own,” she admits, and he doesn’t tell her that it’s true.

“Sheshe,” he says finally, “Please don’t worry about me. I promise, I’ll be fine. I’ll send pictures.”

“Is this really what you need, darling?”

The answer hums under his bones. “Yes.”

“Then your father and I will pray for a safe journey.” Otabek smiles. “Check your bank account anyways. And don’t forget to call us, please.”

 

* * *

 

(wanderlust)

Yuri and Otabek don’t really talk anymore, and Yuri feels the distance growing by the day. But never more than when he goes onto Instagram and sees Otabek has willingly posted something for the first time. It’s a desert sunset, and the motorcycle is sinking gently into the dunes, all long black shadows and rolling clouds. The location tag is in fucking Mongolia.

Just like that, Yuri feels winded. He wants to call Otabek so badly, to ask him what he was doing so far from home, where he was heading to, _how did he even get there--_ when he gets a private message in his inbox. It’s from Otabek. The picture is of a small creature with massive ears rolling its cubs in the shadows of a boulder. _I thought you’d like these,_ is the only message following it, like he’d never left, like this wasn’t the first Yuri had heard from him in weeks. A quick Google search informs Yuri they’re fennec foxes, and Yuri misses him so keenly in that instant. He has so many questions to ask, but they can wait for now.

 _Sight seeing?_ Yuri asks.

_Something like that._

 

::

 

Over the following months, Yuri starts hearing stories of Otabek from other skaters. Everyone still follows each other on social media, and Otabek’s been causing quite a stir with his updates on Instagram, consistently documenting his manic pixie dream quest across the continent. People are starting to invite him to stay with them if he’s ever in the country. Apparently, Beka’s traveling far enough that he really does make good on their offers.

Yuri finds his solo pictures of mountain ranges and crowded city squares replaced by tagged pictures with familiar faces. In South Korea, he’s with his old rinkmate Seung Gil; their twin frowns turned cheerful by the jeweled-toned red maple shadows. In China, Beka’s walking under strings of lights, holding a skewer of candied fruits, as Guang Hong Ji peeps from the corner of the photo. In Thailand, Phichit catches them both on a river boat, the light reflecting off the black water as Otabek gazes towards the shore. He looks different in all these photos; rougher, weathered, more at peace. Sometimes there’s no service and Yuri sees posts weeks after he’s already checked into the country. Other times, he updates it live. Once, when he’s in Japan, he surprises Yuri with a Skype call. Seeing Katsudon, Victor, and Otabek all in the same screen makes such a confusing mix of emotions leap to Yuri’s throat that all he does is nod and let them talk. There’s exuberant happiness warring with intense longing, and Yuri tries not to feel like he’s somehow missing out.

His injury was the worst thing that could’ve happened to him, but Otabek... he had crawled out of that dark place he was in. And he did it without Yuri. Yuri’s not sure if he can say that Beka has escaped or been freed from their world; their harsh, unending cycles of competition and glory. He doesn’t know what the feeling in his chest is anymore when he thinks about Otabek.

It’s pride, he thinks. But maybe also a bit of wistfulness. He misses him.

 

* * *

 

(epiphanies)

He thinks about Yuri sometimes. It happens in moments he doesn’t expect; like when he ships his bike and himself over to Canada, and he’s greeted by JJ and Isabella hand in hand at the airport. Their son is asleep on Isabella’s shoulder and Otabek is thrown for a minute by how fond JJ looks. Fatherhood had mellowed him out, and inexplicably, Otabek thinks of what it would be like to have this.

It happens again when he rides past the border into America and Leo offers him a place to crash for the night. He spends part of it FaceTiming Guang Hong, and Otabek can’t even breathe with how familiar that is. “You guys have been together for a long time,” he observes neutrally after Guang Hong waves goodnight to them both and Leo hangs up. “Has it been 4 years yet?”

“5, this coming October,” Leo replies, crossing his arms comfortably behind his head.

“Congratulations,” Otabek says, and before he’s able to stop himself, “How do you do it?”

Leo looks down at where Otabek is curled on his futon. “What, long distance?”

“Yeah,” and the understanding look in Leo’s face makes him want to shut up. Something makes him keep going. “He’s also a skater.”

Leo sighs. “It’s hard. Not gonna lie, at first it was really fucking hard. Still is. Especially with the time difference and how far China is. But… I don’t know. Guang Hong’s always been willing and I’ve always been willing and we’ve made it work.”

Otabek isn’t satisfied with that answer, wonders what kept their relationship going when his so clearly had failed. China and America were even farther than it was from Kazakhstan to Russia.

“Hey, Otabek?” Otabek waits as Leo chooses his words. “I get it. It hasn’t always been like this. Guang Hong and I called it off plenty of times too.”

Otabek rolls himself over onto his elbows. “What made you get back together?”

Leo smiles wryly. “I think the better question is, why can’t I stay away? It’s a lot easier when we’re not together but…” Leo’s face softens. “I don’t know. It never felt right. I’m happier missing him than I am without him. And I'm okay with my decisions.”

 

::

 

His journey is winding itself down; after riding across the Americas, he finds himself on the last leg of his trip in Europe. He hesitates on making good on the Crispino twins’ offer, but Italy is _expensive_ and they’re hospitable. Also, they speak in a language he understands, which is a luxury he hasn’t had in other countries. They keep talking about the upcoming competitions though. Otabek finds that he’s more oddly affected than he’d thought he would be. Sara seems to realize a little late, but Michele just shrugs and points out, “It’s been a year. What’s hiding it going to do for him?” Otabek wryly agrees, but leaves Italy a little restless.

He doesn’t realize why until he reaches the Czech Republic, and Emil insists on teaching him to snowboard. Otabek almost declines out of fear of aggravating his back injury, but then grits his teeth and takes the board. He realizes he can’t run away from his past forever, that if he’s going to commit to really _living_ then that includes doing the things that make him scared or uncomfortable now.

In Switzerland, this realization cements itself unexpectedly in a talk with Giacometti, who had retired 2 years ago himself. They’re at a cafe, since Chris had insisted on taking him out to see the city. “Ah, Otabek,” he sighs happily. “Such a romantic thing to do, traveling the world after you retired. I wouldn’t have thought it was your style.”

“It’s not as romantic as you think,” Otabek replies, lips twitching. Otabek’s bought a lot of camping gear along the way. There’s a switchblade in his boot at all times and his map is creased to the point of almost tearing. He can count the number of warm showers he’s had on one hand, especially when he was still traveling the countryside in Asia.  

“You’re no fun,” Chris pouts, sipping his latte. “At least you’re taking advantage of it. Most people treat retirement like a death sentence.”

“I did at first,” Otabek says softly. He stares into the mid distance, before remembering his drink.

“Ah well. End of an era,” Chris says flippantly, though the understanding in his face makes up for his words. “Now you can finally get on with other things.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, you know. Getting an education. Starting a new career, maybe a family. There’s more to life than just winning.”

“I…” He hadn’t planned on what came after. He’s always taken things one season at a time. “I don’t know what comes after this,” he says honestly.

Chris seems to consider him over the table. “Anything,” he answers simply. “It’s the beginning of anything you want.”

 

* * *

 

(need)

He stares at his bank account. There’s enough money left for a one way plane ticket to Moscow.

He wants to take the leap of faith, but before he can dial the number, the screen lights up with the exact person he wanted to talk to. Otabek’s heart leaps into his mouth, and he slides open the call.

“Yuri, I…” He stops. Yuri is _sobbing,_ too hard for him to understand what he’s saying at first.    
  
“Yura? Hey hey _breathe…_ slow down... I’m right here, talk to me when you’re ready.”

Otabek doesn’t want to imagine what would’ve happened if he hadn’t had service or if the call had gone to voicemail, because the next words send ice shooting through his veins.

_“...intensive care… and I don’tknowwhattodo, Beka I think he’s dying--”_

All the hairs rise on his arms. _No._  Please god, no.

Otabek doesn’t even wait for Yuri to finish crying before he buys the plane ticket.

“I’m coming. Yura? Yura, stay on the line with me. I’m coming. I land tomorrow at noon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i support interracial marriages and diversity 
> 
> also, researching the injuries ice skaters sustain and what happens to them after they retire was honestly the most painful thing. ice skating will seriously fuck you up, the G force from landings is no joke
> 
> post-career depression also is a very real thing, and happens to many skaters who don't simultaneously pursue an education or have a back-up plan (not all of them can be Victor). the problem is, when you're in that competitive of an environment... you aren't motivated to really focus on anything but your sport, which is what happened to Otabek
> 
> i don't personally have depression, but i have friends and loved ones who do, so i hope this was an accurate portrayal of it


	5. for you (i would climb mountains for you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ocean Blue - Secession  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=101e1gKZ-6w

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dear god this was so emotional

 

* * *

 

(crisis)

It takes 2 surgeries. At least 1 major complication arises that requires a lot of paperwork and makes Yuri hyperventilate into Otabek’s jacket. They take turns sleep in the waiting room and by his bedside when they’re allowed. Otabek lives off cafeteria coffee and sandwiches for 3 days and Yuri hasn’t slept more than 10 hours in total since the day Nikolai was rushed to the hospital.

His grandpa makes it through. The doctors tell Yuri that they’ve stabilized him for now but it’s going to a rough road to recovery at his age. They’re keeping him there for at least another few days, and Yuri, Yuri is so fucking relieved he doesn’t care.

He looks over and Otabek is radiating relief just as palpably as his own.

His grandpa was alive. He’ll take whatever comes after.

 

::

 

The stroke hadn’t been entirely unexpected at his age. But somehow Yuri’s never made contingency plans. Nikolai has always been so _healthy,_  without even a hint of senility, despite pushing 72. He was able to drive himself, cook, and clean. The man took brisk walks at 5 am for god’s sake. Yuri never _had_ to worry.

Now Yuri is frantic. He stares at the tiny print of the hospital bills, takes in how many zeroes there are, and takes a long shaky breath.

“Hey,” Otabek whispers, touching him gently on the shoulder. “He’s asleep. You should get some rest too.” 

They’ve been home all of one day and Otabek has already made himself seamlessly a part of Yuri’s family. Nikolai had finally been released with a shitton of pamphlets on his medications and home-care, and a suggestion for a home-stay nurse.

Yuri feels lost, out of his element. The first person he would’ve run to with this would have been dedushka. But dedushka is fragile and wheelchair bound now, and only smiles tiredly instead of speaking. It’s just him. It’s up to Yuri to take care of them both. But he’s only 22, and…

Yuri has no idea what he’s going to do. He can’t possibly compete, but he knows if he stops skating then there’s no way he can continue to provide for the healthcare Nikolai needs. Their combined savings can’t last them forever. Even with his grandfather’s health insurance, the final cost was brutal. Expenses are only going to mount now that Yuri has to make the house wheelchair accessible and continue with physical therapy and speech therapists and...

What if he moved his grandfather to St. Petersburg with him? No, that’s too dangerous. Even then, he’s training for 8 or 10 hours a day. What if he hired a nurse… But then how could he live with himself for abandoning his grandfather when he needed him most? It sounds selfish, in Yuri’s head. What--

“Yura?” Otabek asks again. Yuri realizes he never answered.

“I just gotta figure some things out,” Yuri says tiredly, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “You should get some rest though.”

There’s a warm hand on the back of his neck and a soft exhale. Beka’s kneading into his shoulders. Yuri closes his eyes. He feels guilty for enjoying this.

“Thank you for coming,” Yuri whispers at the same time that Otabek asks, “What if I stayed?”

They both stop and look at each other.

“What?”

“I said… What if I stayed?” Otabek chews on his lower lip, an old nervous habit. “I’m not… I’m not working at the moment. I’ve rented out my apartment in the time I was away. And I don’t have anywhere I need to be. Let me, Yura. Please.”

Yuri’s voice shakes when he answers, despite his best efforts.  “It’s… not an easy job, Beka. He can’t walk on his own, you would have to be with him day and night. And… Dedushka is my responsibility. You shouldn’t have to.”

 _We’re not even together,_ is what he wants to say.

“But I want to.” Otabek looks to the ground. “Yura, I love him too. And you have to skate.”

It wouldn’t be a stranger. It would be someone who loved his grandfather just as much as he did, someone who Yuri trusted, and for a moment Yuri is so overwhelmed that he crashes into Otabek’s arms. If Otabek is surprised, he recovers quickly, gripping back tightly as Yuri sinks them both to the ground. Yuri is shaking. He’s so conflicted yet so relieved.

Leave it to Beka to figure out the perfect solution.

Yuri doesn’t think he’s ever loved anybody this much before.

 

::

 

Yuri insists that since Otabek won’t take any form of payment, he shouldn’t have to pay one ruble for any food or gas while in Moscow. Yuri cooks feverishly, leaving portions ready to heat up and eat in the freezer, and money in case it ran out. He researches late into the night on his grandfather’s aftercare, and Otabek familiarizes himself on where they keep their paperwork and medical records. Otabek has always been the calmer one under pressure; his quiet strength and gentle attentiveness to Nikolai makes Yuri feel… safe. Otabek doesn’t even flinch when it comes to changing or sponge bathing him, doesn’t ever complain when Nikolai needs assistance with the restroom.

Nikolai has thankfully retained all his mental faculties but his ability to speak has been afflicted. He squeezes their fingers and crinkles his eyes, trying to reassure them. Otabek has never needed words to understand someone, and Yuri watches him care for Nikolai, breathing easier with how well-suited to the task he is.

 

::

 

Yuri refuses to let Otabek sleep on the couch for the entirety of his stay, so they both share Yuri's bed until he goes back to St. Petersburg. It’s a noble gesture, but when Yuri wakes up in the middle of the night, they’re always tangled together in some way. Otabek is usually soundlessly asleep and unaware, so Yuri leaves them like this until morning.

Nothing ever happens. 

Nothing needs to.

(He’s already so far gone on Otabek that it doesn’t matter.)

 

::

 

Yuri leaves. Otabek stays. He drives Nikolai to all his physical therapy sessions and speech therapy appointments. The day Nikolai regains the ability to say his name, he FaceTimes Yuri, watching Yuri’s face change into one of wobbly joy.

“Y-yuu-roch-kah.” Nikolai beams, bushy mustache quivering.

 _“Dedushka,”_ Yuri breathes, fingers covering his mouth. Otabek smiles.

It’s almost a miracle that Nikolai fully recovers his speech patterns. He still has a hard time with certain consonants, but the speech therapist had been the best Yuri could find. Otabek enjoys talking to Nikolai. He’s a man of few words, but the few he says are wry and witty. He sees where Yuri gets it from.

 

* * *

 

(music)

One day, he discovers a dusty 6-string guitar in the attic Nikolai asked him to clear out. He brings it to Nikolai, who only smiles tiredly. He takes it in his hands, but still doesn’t quite have the muscle dexterity to play it. “I used to woo Yurachka’s grandmother with this guitar,” he explains matter-of-factly, smoothing a palm over the wood. “Elena loved my music as much as she was jealous of it.” Nikolai sighs, smugness gone. “It’s always been my first love. Although... It’s been such a long time.”

“I can play it for you, if you like,” Otabek offers.

“You play?” Otabek hesitates, then nods. “Show me.”

At first, picking up the guitar feels intimidating. It comes back, but he’s rusty. He picks an easy chord progression, before muscle memory takes over and he ends up playing a Spanish lullaby. Nikolai’s eyes shine, which Otabek takes as encouragement to keep going. He fucks up here and there, stumbles when he can’t remember what comes next, and repeats a chord twice when he wasn’t supposed to. But when he finishes, Nikolai says, “Why did you pick skating? You’re just as good at guitar.”

Otabek honestly can’t remember. It was a hobby at first, and it actually came before skating. His father had taught him, positioning his tiny hands on the fretboard. He strums a chord without thinking.

“I don’t know,” he says finally. “I guess I never thought about it.”

Nikolai smiles slyly. “Can you sing?”

Otabek wills himself not to blush.

“I saw that lullaby you recorded for Yurochka,” Nikolai says simply, and suddenly, finding the guitar doesn’t seem so accidental anymore. “You’re good. But maybe I can show you a thing or two.” And just like that, Otabek knows he’s been played without even trying.

 

::

 

When he said that music was his first love, he hadn’t been kidding. Nikolai’s tutelage is thorough and every bit as brilliant as Yuri’s skating. It becomes a little less of a bonding activity and more like training, especially when Nikolai has him sing.

And Otabek… He likes it. This form of creativity doesn’t come naturally to him like skating does, because he never got to grow into it. He peaked, as a skater--even if he were to go on the ice again, he’ll never be as good as he used to be. This is something he can improve in, so Otabek throws himself into the challenge of it, watches himself get better.

He wonders if Nikolai knows exactly what he did in giving this to him. He must’ve. He’s too smart to not realize how lost Otabek has been, how much he’s needed an outlet.

Sometimes, he wonders who’s been helped more by this experience: him, or Yuri’s grandfather.

 

* * *

 

(viral)

It starts when Otabek sends a song to Yuri. Just a video on Facebook like the first lullaby he ever sent. The only difference is that he sings this time, a short simple song he knows Yuri likes, and Nikolai is in the background to join in at the very end. Yuri smiles, and shares it like he did before, going to bed with a warm feeling of happiness inside his chest.

Little did he know.  
  
20,000 views quickly turns into 870,000 views which turns into going _viral._ Otabek's video has been shared a dizzying number of times: by everyone they know, and then by everyone who _follows_ everyone they know, and it somehow makes it even outside of the skating community... into the global mainstream. Otabek is literally in _Buzzfeed_ articles for fuck’s sake, which Yuri reads in open horror.

 

**_PEOPLE ARE FREAKING OUT OVER THIS PERFECT OLYMPIAN BOYFRIEND!_ **

_Get you a man who can do just about… anything!_  
_Last night, the world was #blessed when 25 year old former_ _  
_ _skater Otabek Altin posted a video to his boo’s Facebook wall._

**_[embedded video]_ **

  
_Yuri Plisetsky, 22, is currently training for the Grand Prix Finals_  
_for men’s singles skating and hasn’t been home in a while._  
_Altin was seen singing and playing the guitar alongside Plisetsky’s_ _  
grandfather, before ending the video with a sweet “We miss you”._

**_UNNNNNF HOW PERFECT IS THAT?!_ **

_Since then, ovaries all over the planet have exploded as we_  
_discovered Plisetsky's boyfriend is secretly the ultimate_  
_walking thirst trap._

_Not only has he..._

**_RIDDEN AN EFFING MOTORCYCLE  
AROUND THE ENTIRE WORLD_**

**_[photo of him on the bike]_ **

**_[instagram post in China]_ **

**_[Instagram post in Switzerland]_ **

 

**_HE'S MADE HISTORY AT THE OLYMPICS_**

**_[picture of Kazakhstan flag]_ **

**_[gif of his quadruple toe loop]_ **

 

 _No, on top of that, he is literally taking care  
of his _ _boyfriend’s ill grandfather…_

**_[screenshot of him and Nikolai]_ **

_and still sending him sweet videos in the meanwhile_

**_[gif of him singing]_ **

_Let’s not forget_

**_[Instagram photo]_ **

_That he’s also_

**_[Instagram photo]_ **

**_H O T  AS  F U C K_ **

**_[photo]_ **

**_[photo]_ **

**_[photo]_ **

 

**_#DEAD_ **

 

All of this is hideously ironic and painful considering he and Otabek _weren’t even together_. NO ONE IS SYMPATHETIC. JJ calls him and literally just laughs for a solid minute and a half. Yuri even hangs up, and he calls again, _still fucking laughing._ Everyone else is equally unhelpful, Phichit even having the gall to be amused.

 **_phichit+chu_ ** ****  
_honestly LOL_  
_ur famous_  
_he's famous_  
_he's hot_  
_and plays a guitar_  
_what did u expect would happen?_

Yuri’s only response was a long, wordless scream into his pillow when Otabek calls him with the news.

 

::

 

Otabek gets an email one day. People want to sponsor him. This is fucking insane.

 

::

 

Otabek, who has a long nurtured a passionate hatred for all things social media, finds himself an internet sensation.

“ _This will never not be hilarious,”_ his sister wheezes to him over the phone. “ _A_ _re you going to take their offer?”_

Otabek shrugs, before he realizes she can’t see him. “I mean, money is money.”

 

::

 

After a lot of negotiation, he winds up with a YouTube channel and a contract to start uploading every Monday. They send him a really nice camera and recording equipment he has to figure out how to use, while Nikolai fusses over making him look presentable. (He's never felt more judged in his entire life than when he hears Nikolai's disappointed  _oh_ at his closet).

He does popular covers in English at first, because apparently that’s what’s most universal. He tries to put his own personal spin on each song, and the subdued intensity speaks for itself. People like it a lot. Even after his sensationalism dies down, he maintains a steady fan following. He does however, stick stubbornly to making content he enjoys, and uploads a few tutorials on the side about how to play more complicated Spanish pieces as well as songs in Russian that he does like. Those aren’t as popular, and they're extra work on top of his deadlines, but it’s not bad. Especially after the first paycheck comes. Otabek realizes he could get used to this. Nikolai is proud, and Yuri…

Well, Yuri blushes a lot more now when they Skype each other.

He can get used to that too.

 

::  

 

The best thing that happens is people start making GoFundMe’s for Nikolai. After the internet and his fans dug deeper into Nikolai's condition, donations started rolling in along with incredibly sweet messages for him to get well. Yuri and Otabek are speechless. Nikolai is touched and more than a bit smug.

“You’ve wooed the entire world into paying my medical bills,” Nikolai preens. “Not a bad job.”

Otabek rolls his eyes, turning back to making dinner.

“You would’ve made a good son-in-law,” Nikolai admits casually. Otabek nearly chops off his own fingers, but when he turns back around, Nikolai is innocently sipping his mug of tea. 

 

* * *

 

(stay)

Yuri wins the Grand Prix Final because of fucking course he does. He skates with nothing but thoughts of Nikolai’s face and Otabek’s voice and shuts out everything else. The biting pain in his knees and joints don't exist. The constant pressure to remember what comes next, the hushed commentary pointing out his flaws, a bad patch of ice, Yakov and Lilia's breathless tension on the sidelines, even his competitive edge...

It all melts away. He's only performing for two people tonight.

Yuri twists and floats through his combination jumps. Tenderly holds himself through a flawless Biellmann. He lets the music and choreography narrate his thoughts for him: love, tenderness, adoration. His theme this year is Gratitude. 

When he finishes, Yuri folds his arms around himself, tilts his face to the ceiling, legs crossed... and the crowd _roars._  

Otabek and Nikolai watch him over the television at home and shout in excitement after his score flashes up. He gets gold. Yuri never disappoints.

 

::

 

Yuri  comes home two days later, and runs straight into Otabek’s arms. Otabek returns the hug nervously, dreading what comes next. He's not sure where this leaves them now. Otabek knows he’s done what he was supposed to do. Nikolai’s medical fees are now covered; they can afford a stay-at-home nurse, and Nikolai's regained greater mobility and autonomy. He can wheel himself, and even cook since they’ve converted the kitchen for him. Otabek isn’t needed here anymore.

But Yuri pulls back and the look in his eyes is shining and brighter than Otabek’s ever seen.

Otabek is surprised when he finds them kissing. But even more surprised when Yuri pulls back, Otabek’s face in his hands and whispers, “Stay. Please.”

 

::

 

Yuri and Otabek stay in Moscow at first. But after Nikolai’s impatient shooing, they reluctantly move back into Yuri’s apartment in St. Petersburg. Nikolai is even more stubborn than Yuri, who at first is positively anxious at the thought of being 4 hours away from his grandfather, even by high speed train.

 _“I’ll be fine,_ ” Nikolai insists over the phone. _“How would you both have fit into that tiny house anyways?”_

“We did it just fine before!” Yuri argues, relentless. "What if something happens, dedushka?"

_"... A **trained**  nurse with YEARS of medical experience now lives with me? You want me to believe I also need a **figure skater** and a **Youtube singer?** "_

Otabek has never seen someone take Yuri down that quickly before. He wants to take notes. Yuri’s furious side-eye tells him he is not amused.

 

* * *

 

(reunion)

Maybe it's muscle memory, maybe it's because they never  _stopped_  feeling this way about each other. Maybe they're just good at reading each other's cues. 

It’s just like picking up where they left off.

Yuri opens him up carefully, Beka's mouth closing on a groan as he lifts one knee higher onto Yuri's shoulder. When Yuri finally slides in, he feels so good inside him, so warm and full. His pace is almost worshipful; hands smoothing Otabek everywhere he can reach, mouth murmuring devotion into his skin in Russian. He's everywhere. And Otabek feels overwhelmed, so naked and raw and blissed out that when he finally comes...

"Beka?" Fuck. "Beka, what's wrong?" Yuri somehow manages to be frantic and soothing at the same time. "Are you crying, was it something I did?"

Otabek somehow finds it possible within this overwhelming mix of feeling so adored and respected and confused to feel embarrassed. "I’m just happy," he whispers roughly, turning his face to hide the evidence. "I feel so safe." Like nothing bad could ever happen. Like he's never felt more at home and _enough_ to someone. Yuri melts and chooses not to comment. He just holds him tighter, thumbing at Otabek's cheeks until eventually they're dry, and Otabek's left thinking _so this is love_. It's simultaneously the most fucking terrifying and amazing feeling he's ever experienced. Otabek self-consciously wrinkles his nose, and kisses Yuri again.

"Mm... I missed you," Yuri murmurs fondly, lips slowly curling. "I missed this.” Yeah, Otabek did too. 

They both go quiet, with Yuri stroking the hair back from Beka's face. Otabek loves this, so he's content to lie there, until Yuri breaks the silence.

"Y’know... You were kind of my first love," Yuri muses.

Otabek snorts, opens his eyes. “Yeah? I think you were mine too.”

“Hey, Beka? I know we're young. But..." Yuri's eyes flicker, and something changes. He trails off, chewing his lip, and Otabek freezes at his next words. “... I don't want there to be a next person."

Complete silence. Otabek's not even breathing. Fuck. What is he supposed to _say_ to that?

He wants that. He wants it so bad. And Yuri is just _looking_ at him, like he's not ever going to leave again, like he'd be willing to make this all work out and they could have this forever and Otabek doesn't know how to handle all of it.

So he doesn't, and instead flips them so that Yuri's pinned onto the bed with Otabek riding his hips. They'd never separated from earlier, and he grinds down slow and deep, sucking hard at the base of Yuri's neck. Through the groans, he whispers, "Me neither,"  and feels Yuri shiver. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUDE i love how all of this is literally only possible because of the time and era we live in
> 
> internet celebrities are the wildest shit the 21st century ever came up with and no one can convince me otherwise


	6. i’ve been dreaming of a future that looks like our past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Superstar - Broods  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5IycZo4fhf0
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: this chapter contains mentions of PAST DOMESTIC ABUSE/ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, please read at your own discretion
> 
> whoop. too much head canon happened again. so i had to split this last chapter into... 
> 
> 1 EMOTIONALLY DEVASTATING & INTENSE CHAPTER  
> +  
> 1 SUPER ROMANTIC & HAPPY CHAPTER 
> 
> i apologize for who i am as a person, thank you to anyone who's read this entire fic all the way through

* * *

 

 ****(gift)

Yuri is the one who gets Otabek lots of gifts, without cause or an occasion. It’s something about him that’s never changed, even years down the line, now that they’re older and winning each other over is no longer necessary. Back then, he would just pass by something that reminded him of Otabek and impulsively pick it up to send overseas. Stuffed animals, a bomber jacket he thinks will look good on him, a braided leather bracelet with their initials carved into it.

Otabek, on the other hand, is notoriously awful at giving gifts. He’s the more sentimental of the two, but far less materialistic. He always ends up giving thoughtful experiences instead; homecooked dinners by candlelight, songs he makes up on the guitar for Yuri, motorcycle rides to high and beautiful summits.

It lead to a lot of misunderstandings when they were younger, with Yuri thinking that Beka was either stingy or didn’t know him well enough to get anything, and Otabek thinking Yura needed way too much and didn’t appreciate him. But it’s been years. And they’ve come to learn each other’s ways of expressing affection, feeling grateful for it. Now they’ll switch, and Otabek will wake up to a gentle full body massage, or Yuri will get a cat plushy and his favorite snacks when he’s having a bad day. It’s all a learning process.

 

* * *

 

(father)

“You moved in with Yuri, I see,” Otabek’s father observes. It’s one of their monthly phone calls and Otabek steadies himself with a deep breath. He can do this. He might’ve come out to his brother and sister years ago, but never his parents. Renting out his apartment in Almaty and moving into Yuri’s in St. Petersburg may as well have been an outright admission. He doesn’t have the excuse of taking care of his friend’s grandfather anymore.

“Yes,” Otabek says simply, steeling himself, and there’s a short silence on the other end. His nails dig into his palms from nervousness.

“I see.” His father says at last, neutrally.

As publicized as their relationship had been to the rest of the world, Otabek’s parents knew better than to pay any attention to what the tabloids or media said about them over the years. It was a blessing as much as it was a curse. Although his parents may have hazarded a guess, they never brought up their suspicions up to be confirmed or denied. And in truth, after Yuri and Otabek broke up, he didn’t have the heart to do it either.

Otabek feels the relationship with his parents tipping on the edge of a knife. This moment makes or breaks something and Otabek honestly isn’t sure which way it’ll fall.

“Your mother and I had... guessed. That Yuri was more than just a friend.” His father sounded incredibly uncomfortable as he admitted this, and that disheartened Otabek almost instantly. He should’ve known. “I suspect you wouldn’t have flown out to take care of his grandfather if it had been anyone else.”

“He’s like family to me,” Otabek explains, because it’s true of Nikolai; and as for Yuri…

“Yuri is…” How does he even begin to describe Yuri? “Yeka, I…” _Say it._ “I love him.”

“I know, Beka.” His father hesitates. “Allah has given you to us to teach us lessons, I think. About love. And what can and cannot be controlled. I can’t control my children, only love them.” The words are careful as his father weighs them before speaking; Otabek had learned his caution from him. “It has been very humbling being your father, I will admit. First with Atiya, marrying an outsider… And now with you.” His words cut like knives. “I won’t pretend that I didn’t want grandchildren but...”

“Yeka…” Otabek doesn’t know what to say.

“I understand.” This surprises him. “More than your mother, I think. It doesn’t surprise me. She still has…” A pause. “A harder time with it.” _She wishes you weren’t._ “But I will speak with her.”

This is more than he’d dared hoped. Otabek hardly breathes, but he forces himself to.

“Are you…” Fuck, he doesn’t want to know the answer to this, but he has to ask it. “Do you wish I was... different?”

On second thought, why. Why did he ask that? He stares blankly at the wall in front of him, already regretting the leap of faith he took.

“I’ll be honest, yes.” Otabek feels it like a blow. “I never wanted a difficult life for you.” His voice lowers, saddened. “I’m sorry. I love you more than anything. But I cannot lie. I never wanted a life of being afraid for you. Of you being ashamed to come to me. Of worrying what certain people might do to you if they knew. I worry about you now more than I do Atiya or Serik.”

“I’ve never wanted that either,” Otabek says thickly, his father’s honesty bringing a hard lump in the back of his throat. “But I don’t think I was ever meant to be _comfortable_ , yeka. He makes me happy. And I can protect myself _and_ Yuri.”

“I know he does. And I know you can. That’s why I accept him. It’s… It’s just. It will be a while before I adjust, Beka. But I will.” He says it as firmly as he’s ever said anything. “For you, I will.”

And Otabek believes him. Just like he did when he was 5 years old and afraid of the dark. _There are no monsters here, I promise._ Just like when he was 8 and first learning to swim. _Just keep going. I’ll pull you up if you sink._ Just like when he was 15 and got bad marks on a test. _You’re smarter than this, I know you are._

“... Thank you,” Otabek whispers. _For trying._

“Thank you for telling me the truth.”

 

::

 

When Yuri comes home from practice and sees his expression, he wordlessly drops his duffel bag and lets Otabek hide his face in his shoulder, cupping a hand protectively over the back of his neck.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks softly. Otabek shakes his head. “Okay.”

Yuri sits with him, patient and sweaty and exhausted on the couch. He doesn’t make any move to get up, not even when his arm starts going pins and needles numb. Finally Otabek lifts his head up, emotionless.

“I told my parents. About us.”

“Oh.” Yuri can’t hide the nervousness in his voice. He stomps it down. “What did they have to say?”

Otabek is silent for a long time. Yuri is used to how he shuts down. He knows better than to push.

“Yeka said he accepts it. Or, he would try to accept it.” Beka bites his lip, the only outward sign of his emotions. “Sheshe… doesn’t. They both wish I was different.”

Oh, Beka. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” and Yuri is surprised by the flare of emotion from Otabek’s eyes. “I’m not sad. And I’m not surprised. This is okay. More than okay.”

“It’s the best we could’ve hoped for,” Yuri allows. It could’ve been so, so much worse. But Yuri only has his own loving grandfather to compare to. He feels guilty.

“Yeah,” Beka agrees, curling heavily into his side.

_It’s enough. For now, this was enough._

 

* * *

 

(choreography)

Yuri shows him the song for his  proposed Olympic short program. It’s familiar. Otabek pulls out one ear-bud, incredulous.

Yuri just smiles.

 

::

 

_… skating his technical program to[Tristesse by Francis Kleynjans](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tt-HFIgpJKM) is Yuri Plisetsky, representing Russia.  _

Yuri starts his crossovers into the center of the ice, scanning the stands for Otabek. " _Yura, davai,”_ Otabek shouts. Once Yuri makes eye contact, he holds his gaze. Pulling a leaf straight out of Victor and Yuuri’s book, Yuri mouths “ _watch me,”_ smirking as he lowers his head, and begins.

The song is Beka’s guitar lullaby, slightly extended to fit the 2 minutes and 50 seconds requirement. He had Victor help him with the choreography for this, and it shows in his step sequence. It’s melancholy, soft, wandering. Agape elevated. Victor had gone quiet when Yuri showed it to him for the first time.

“You're going to win with this, you know.”

“You can’t tell that just yet,” Yuri panted, surprised. Victor tapped pause on Otabek's cover, smiling ruefully.

“Yes I can.”

 

_… triple Salchow with a double toe on the end, a good start…_

 

The theme is Waiting. Yuri’s arms fly out, searching, wrapping back into his center as he skates.

 

… _and butterfly spin, straight into a layback… Very fluid..._

 

He thinks of Barcelona. Thinks of the sun setting on them in Park Guell.  

 

… _unbelievable transition into his Biellmann…_

 

He thinks of all the years he’s spent kissing Otabek in airports. Calling at night to hear his voice. Missing him.     

 

_Quadruple salchow, triple flip!_

 

He’s getting tired but he doesn’t let it show. He wants to live in this song. Time slows to a blur.  

 

_… And a wind up, into his final quad loop..._

 

He lands it, ice chips flying around his face, clean. It’s over, but Yuri doesn’t want it to be. The notes are trailing off, and he finishes in his final pose; chest heaving, ears ringing. The distant roaring becomes louder and louder until it’s like someone turned all the volume back up and he’s aware of the crowd on their feet.

 

 _Absolutely his most_ **_moving_** _performance, I haven’t seen this level of emotion since his senior debut…_

 

He keeps searching the stands, gasping for breath, eyes blurring from exhaustion and sweat.

“ _Yura!”_

Yuri’s face breaks into a grin. There it is.

 

::

 

Of all the kisses Otabek’s ever given him, the one he gets after this short program easily makes Top 5. _Maybe even Top 3,_  he thinks, crowded against the rink barricade as Otabek bites against the moan escaping Yuri’s lips. Yuri forgets Yakov’s shouting and the cameras flashing and even what year it is because _holy shit,_  Beka.

“I’m sorry,” Beka gasps finally, pulling away maybe half a centimeter, looking _anything_ but apologetic. “Couldn’t stop myself.”

Yuri just grabs both sides of his face and draws him back in.

He is _done_ waiting.

 

::

 

Yuri lied.

He broke his personal record in his short program, tops out at 102.41, and then breaks 180.02 in his free skate. He places gold at his second Olympics in his entire life. Over Jean Jacques Leroy.

The kiss he gets after _THAT_ topped the charts.

 

* * *

 

(sharing)

Having a second person living with him was both a blessing and a curse. It was _amazing_ to come home and have dinner ready on some days, someone who knew where he last threw his keys, someone to fix the sink when it got clogged instead of having to call a plumber.

It was hell adjusting to each other’s living styles. Otabek, for someone who was so put together on the surface, is naturally careless. He leaves behind forgotten mugs or half drunken glasses of water on every surface, his shoes left where he just stepped out of them. Yuri, despite being neater, was far lazier. He believed in taking short-cuts whenever possible. This meant eating take-out, using disposable utensils to avoid dishes, adapting to things like squeaky hinges and flickering light bulbs until he could no longer ignore them.

At first they don’t mind, and it lasts that way for a long time: until Otabek finally gets frustrated at always being the one to do the cooking and Yuri had no mugs left to drink with and had to use a bowl.

“Would it _kill_ you to do dishes every once in awhile?” Yuri huffs in frustration.

“ _Sure._ Should I do that before I fix the water pressure in the shower or after I’ve cooked us dinner?” Otabek asks sarcastically.

“I never asked you to cook all the time? I also do literally _all the cleaning in this damn house_ so don’t act like you’re so put upon.”

“I don’t need you to clean up after me. Also I have no idea how you can afford to do that? You’re always eating out.”

“I lived just fine before you came along!”

They both fire themselves up for more before stopping and staring at each other. Otabek takes a deep breath.

“I need to go for a walk,” he says as calmly as he can, while Yuri holds onto his tongue and tightly nods. Otabek returns half an hour later to Yuri calmly doing the dishes. He rolls his sleeves up and goes to help rinse and dry. Yuri soaps up a pot and sighs, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Otabek starts, but Yuri shakes his head. “I can clean more?”

“No, let’s… sit down. And figure this out.”

There’s a fair way of doing things, and then there’s a smart way of doing things. They both realize that Yuri’s standards of cleaning were higher, so it only makes sense for him to take care of it. Otabek is better at meal prepping and doing basic upkeep, so that was his responsibility. Neither of them mind laundry or taking out the trash so they both would just text whoever was the most available at the time. And so on. Divide and conquer.

It isn’t always neat or easy, especially when Yuri comes home physically exhausted or Otabek is already home but late on a video deadline. But they learn to suck it up when the other can’t quite manage it, and both always reliably put in the effort to do so. Eventually, they stop keeping score. Start thinking in terms of a seamless unit.

 

* * *

 

(soft)

Yuri notices when Otabek hesitates for too long getting dressed in front of the mirror. Yuri watches him hesitantly splay a hand over his stomach before he roughly pulls on a shirt. There’s a slightly different way Beka holds himself as the days go by; less confident in his own body, always slightly dissatisfied or uncomfortable. Yuri isn’t quite sure what to say. They’re older, things change. It’s not like carved hipbones and hard abs and triceps can last forever without conditioning. And it’s not like Beka doesn’t still work out all the time.

(What Otabek doesn’t tell him is that at least half of his insecurities stem from Yuri. Yuri, who’s still training every single day, and has a BMI half his physical age. Yuri, who’s been mistaken on the street for Andreja Pejic when they were shopping. Yuri, who keeps making piroshkis to cheer him up, forgetting the fat content and Otabek’s metabolism don’t quite mix.)

It happens again a week later, when Yuri slides up from behind, arms around Otabek’s waist after he gets out of the shower. He starts nipping at Otabek’s shoulders, savoring the warm, damp skin.

“Not tonight,” Beka says in a strange voice and Yuri pulls back, a little hurt.

“... Okay.” Yuri brushes a hand against his cheek. “Are you tired?”

Otabek’s already shaking his head and drying his hair. “I’m fine, Yura.”

Yuri allows the weird funk to last until they both get into bed and Otabek rolls onto his side instead of cuddling. Yuri stares at him with intense green eyes, trying to determine the best angle of attack, and Otabek awaits for a dramatic pep-talk.

“... Did you know you still give me boners?” Yuri asks seriously. Otabek is startled into an incredulous snort. “Don’t laugh, you asshole! It’s tragic and inconvenient and probably going to last until we’re old and can’t get it up anymore.”

“I’m touched,” Otabek replies tonelessly. “You have such a way with words.”

“Yeah, I know.” Yuri grins, all sharp teeth. “Feel free to swoon a little closer into my arms. And on top of my crotch?”

“Fuck off.” Yuri can hear Otabek’s grudging smile, even with his back turned.

“Baby?”

“No.”

“ _Zhanym_?”

“Gross.”

“But... I _need_ you,” Yuri whines. “I need your strong... supple… masculine body against mine _right this instan--”_

 _“Shut up.”_ Otabek re-settles until his nose is poking into Yuri’s collarbone and their legs are tangled just right. Yuri finally wraps his arm around Beka’s body and pulls them chest to chest. Otabek is solid and warm and tender. “You’re fucking ridiculous.”

“And _you’re_ fucking gorgeous.”

Silence. The lightheartedness Yuri just tried to build evaporates in an instant. “Not really.”

 _Dammit_. “I’m serious,” Yuri tries again. “My life would be easier if I _didn’t_ want to have sex with you across every surface 24/7.”

“Glad you don’t want me just for my body.” Otabek is only half kidding. “Would hate to let you down.”

“Beka.” Yuri’s done skirting around the topic. “Does it really bother you that much?”

“Yes.” Yuri wasn’t expecting him to be that frank. “I wish it didn’t.”

Yuri sighs, knowing everything he says is going to be taken with a grain of salt because he was Otabek’s boyfriend.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admits at last. “Believe me when I say it doesn’t make a difference to me. At all.”

“It does to me, Yura,” Otabek says softly.

Yuri knows. He just kisses the top of Otabek’s head and says nothing.

 

::

 

“Yura, did you already feed Moishe? I can’t find the… What the fuck.”

Otabek stops, half in the doorway, because all the lights are out and their apartment is covered in little tea light candles. A trail of rose petals are leading to their shared bedroom. Oh fuck no.

“Yura, did you let Victor into our house?”

There’s a scandalized yelp from inside the bedroom and a petulant Yuri stomps out in nothing but his most tight fitting pair of boxer-briefs. His hair is loose down to the small of his back, and Otabek swallows hard.

“How _dare_ you,” Yuri hisses, poking a finger to Otabek’s chest. “ _I can be romantic too._ ”

“Is that what this is?” Yuri doesn’t woo him a lot. When he does, it’s a little overwhelming.

“Killing the mood, Beka.” Yuri sighs in frustration. “Can you just let me do a nice thing for once?”

“What exactly are you trying to do?” Yuri mumbles something that Otabek doesn’t quite catch. “Come again?”

“Make my dumbass boyfriend feel beautiful.”

_Oh._

Yuri notices the embarrassed look on his face and smiles warmly. “Can I _please_ see you naked now?”

“Sure,” Otabek says easily, even though he hasn’t been feeling remotely sexual for weeks. He slowly undresses, trying to hide his nervousness. He practically feels Yuri’s eyes burn through his clothes, and when his pants drop to the floor, Yuri almost _purrs._

“ _Finally._ ”

Otabek blushes, hoping the darkness hides it. Then he gets kissed and just goes with it, eyes closed, as he allows Yuri to take him apart.

Admittedly, it’s hard to feel unattractive when Yuri’s dreamily sucking dark bites into his inner thighs, or moaning around his dick without breaking eye contact, or tightly connecting their hands as he whimpers for Beka to drive in slower, deeper. Even if he doesn’t _think_ he’s sexy, Yuri makes him _feel_ like he is, and maybe… Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea.

At least, it wasn’t until Yuri taps play on his phone and he hears the saxophone from Boyz II Men’s _[I'll Make Love To You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=62eW7EbP1Qc). _

“Please stop.” Beka is too tired from his orgasm to roll over and turn it off. “This isn't the early 2000’s.”

“ _I'll make love to you,”_ Yuri croons _,_ ignoring him as usual. _“Like you want me to... And I'll hold you tight. Baby all through the nIGHT--”_

“ _I’ll make love to you... When you want me to,”_ Otabek continues unexpectedly. “ _And I will not let go-o-o until you tell me to… Baby, toni-i-ight is the night…”_

He notices Yuri’s stopped and glances over to see the floored look on his face. The song goes on without them. “What?”

“You… I… when you sing…” Yuri looks to the ceiling, then the bed, then the wall. He seems a little more affected than Otabek expected and Otabek slowly sings the rest of it. Nothing cheesy or soulful like earlier. Simple and strong. Yuri looks genuinely dazed, and curls onto Otabek's chest when it ends.

“You're so beautiful,” he says in disbelief. And for once, Otabek believes him.

“You hear me sing all the time,” Otabek teases, settling his nose into Yuri’s hair. “Get over it.”

“Yeah, sorry. Can’t.” Yuri smirks primly, like a little shit. “I'm in love.” Otabek laughs, for the first time in days, feeling Yuri's lips on his throat and his insecurities far away. He believes him.

 

* * *

 

(sister)

Nikolai calls them in the middle of the week, complaining that he wants to see them soon. Possibly this weekend? Yuri, who can never say no to his grandpa, opens up his laptop to look up train tickets even as they’re still on the phone. That should’ve been his first red flag; Nikolai is never that specific with his requests, always vague and blustering with affection. But it _had_ been a while and Yuri has missed him.

The weekend comes quickly and the train ride passes them in comfortable silence. Yuri is excited to spend a weekend with his grandfather, and can’t quite figure out why Otabek starts getting fidgety on the Uber ride from the train station. Maybe it was something to do with work; he did have that YouTube convention coming up in a few weeks and he’s never been excited about crowds. In hindsight, that should’ve been the second red flag.

The third red flag is when Nikolai greets him at the door instead of Sasha, the home-stay nurse, whom he’d apparently let take a weekend off to visit his friends in the city. Before Yuri can place his finger on why his grandfather would assume he wouldn’t need any help for a few days, Yuri turns the corner and comes face to face with a woman in the living room. No, not a woman… She can’t be older than 17, especially with how her face immediately lights up when she sees him. A teenager.

He doesn't recognize her at first. Her hair and eyes have both darkened since she was a toddler. He doesn't realize who she is until he hears his grandfather gently call her Lariska, the diminutive too warm and familiar, and rage sparks like a fuse in his stomach.

“Lara, this is Yuri. Yurochka, this is...”

“I know.” Yuri says coldly. The atmosphere changes. He feels Beka shift uncomfortably in the doorway. Lara seems to gather her resolve, smiling hesitantly, before she reaches out a hand.

“Hello, big brother. I've been waiting to meet you.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Yuri!” Nikolai exclaims sharply. Yuri ignores him, blankly polite.

“Did you come alone, Lara?”

She seems to hesitate, before shaking her head ‘no’. Her hand drops to her side and self consciously clasps an elbow.

“Where is she?” Yuri’s not even bothering to be polite this time, directly asking Nikolai. Cold fury surges like a wave under his skin. Not even his grandfather’s anger could put it out. “I know my mother is...”

Time slows around him to a halt as he sees her, standing half-hidden in the hallway. She’s aged, of course; her bright green eyes have laugh lines, but they seem saddened now as they look at him.

“Is right here?" She finishes for him. Yuri doesn’t know what he’s feeling. Everything, nothing. “You’ve grown.”

“What brings you here finally?” he asks shortly, and the spell breaks; everything feels like it’s slipping out of his control. He hates it.

She looks to the left. There’s the barest rasp of tears in her voice. “I heard that your grandfather was ill. I wanted to--”

“Heard? Just now?” The laugh that comes from his throat is harsh, foreign. “His stroke was over a year ago. You just decide to come _now?_ Don’t pretend it wasn’t all over the internet. It made local news.” He's trembling. “Where were you when we actually _needed_ you? Actually, fuck that. Where have you been for the last fucking _decade?_ ”

No one’s saying anything and that only serves to fuel the rage in his stomach.

“ _He was hospitalized._ I almost took a season off skating to make sure there was someone to take care of him. _My boyfriend,"_  and here Otabek flinches but Yuri presses on, “ _who isn’t even related to him, by the way,_ took months off to care for him while I had to train.”

Her face is pinched now, unable to hold Yuri’s furious gaze.

“ _What_ , you reach out _once_ by a letter when I was 15 and that was it? That’s your idea of trying? _You abandoned me,”_ and Yuri’s voice has raised to an uncomfortably loud pitch at this point but he doesn’t care _._ “You _left me_ and you don’t get to just _come back_ now that I don’t need you anymore!”

He whirls away as she reaches for him, avoiding his grandfather’s disappointed face, and quickly rushes out the door before saying anything else he’ll regret. He’s breathing hard, breath clouding the air in front of him, and Yuri walks and walks and doesn’t stop until he’s at the edge of the road. He realizes that’s a hand on his shoulder. He almost decks them, until he realizes at the last minute it’s Beka. Yuri drops his fist immediately.

“ _Fuck."_  He buries his face in Otabek’s jacket. Feels hesitant arms come to wrap around him as always. “How could he just… He _should’ve told me--”_

“Yura.” Otabek’s deep voice is soothing, rumbling, but the next words out of his mouth immediately ruin everything. “He wanted to.” Yuri stills. “I didn’t… I didn’t think it was a wise idea.”

“So you told him not to,” Yuri finishes emptily. _So you knew._

“I didn’t think you would ever knowingly agree to see her.” Yuri abruptly shoves away and Otabek lets him.

“This is _my family,_ Beka!” Yuri’s voice is ragged. He hates that Otabek is right, but he still can’t swallow down the betrayal. “ _My family._ Not yours!"Otabek’s eyes widen, and Yuri knows he’s cut deep. “Who gave you the right to decide for me? You _don’t know_ anything, fuck, _I_ don’t even know anything!”

Yuri’s hands find themselves in his hair, distressed, and he flinches away when Otabek reaches for him. “Don’t touch me!”

“Yura,” Otabek pleads. “Please calm down.” Instantly Otabek knew that was the wrong thing to say. All the fire goes out of Yuri.

“I didn’t mean that--”

“I’m going to the hotel,” Yuri interrupts in an eerily calm voice. Even though they’d already agreed to getting one as opposed to staying with Nikolai, Otabek can feel that something is different. “I’ll ask them to leave a key for you at the front desk. Bring my stuff whenever you get a chance.”

_Oh._

 

::

 

He comes back to a silent room with Yuri’s mother cradling her head in her hands on the couch. He can hear Nikolai’s wheelchair creak into the next room to comfort Lara’s gentle sobs.

“It’s not your fault, Ka’tenka,” Otabek hears Nikolai sigh as he leaves. “Give him some time to adjust.” There’s an awkward silence where he doesn’t know what to do.

“You’re Yuri’s boyfriend, yes?” He’s startled that she heard him come in. “Otabek?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A hoarse chuckle. “Call me Katya.” She seems to compose herself and is surprisingly dry eyed when she raises her head. This must be where Yuri gets it from. “I never got a chance to thank you for taking care of my father… And Yuri. My father’s told me so much about you.”

“It was no trouble,” Otabek returns quietly, while privately wondering how much she knows about him while he knows absolutely nothing about her. “Nikolai is like family to me.” He notices her barely perceptible flinch at the word _family_.

“All the same. That was… incredibly generous of you. I didn’t know, I’m not listed as an emergency contact of his… And he wasn’t able to speak until much, much later. I only found out when I got his phone call in the aftermath.” That explained a lot actually. Something clicks in Otabek’s head though.

“... You’re Katya,” he slowly realizes. “I remember Nikolai having long phone calls with an old friend. She had your name.”

She smiles wanly. “Yes. He was careful about protecting my privacy… even after all this time.” She trails off before catching herself. “I would send money to his account, to tide him over, and I tried to offer to come take care of him. But he seemed… comfortable with you.” Nikolai’s trust in him swells Otabek’s heart.

“I’m happy. I remember how worried he was when Yuri started seeing you and…” Her voice trails off, realizing she’s said too much, but Otabek’s stunned expression prompts her to continue. “It wasn’t because of you. It was never you. He’s… he was always just so careful after what happened with me.”

It stings, considering how close they are now. But he supposes at one time, he was just a boy who was too old, too wild looking, and too far away for Yuri…

“I don't know anything,” Otabek answers honestly.

Her lips thin. “Can I trust you?”

“Is it my place to know?” Otabek counters instead. “And do you even want to tell me?”

Instead of being offended, she seems to relax, and somehow… that makes all the difference in her face. She becomes beautiful, the way Yuri is beautiful after he’s had a long day. Tired, delicate. “You’re smart. Yuri chose well...” She takes in a breath, and straightens herself up. “I do trust you. Please, have a seat.”

Otabek does, a respectful distance away, and she begins.

 

::

 

_… Oh my god._

 

::

 

When Otabek opens the hotel room door, Yuri is sitting fully clothed on the bed, watching the TV without blinking. He seems to come back to earth after Otabek crosses the room.

“You’re back,” he acknowledges tonelessly. Otabek hesitates, dropping their things to a safe corner. “Can I…?”

Yuri sighs, before scooting over on the bed. “I just needed space. I still wanted you to stay here with me.” His face doesn’t soften at Otabek’s relief however, and Otabek takes up a cautious distance from him on the comforter.

“So. You talked to my grandfather? Or my…” He can’t bring himself to say it. Otabek just nods. “Oh good, so you know? Because I still don’t.”

“Yura… That’s not for me to tell. Like you said,” and Otabek looks away before swallowing hard. “It’s not my family. I think you need to hear it from her yourself.”

“I don’t want to,” Yuri says simply. Otabek’s mouth thins. He doesn’t want to fight. “I’d rather hear it from anyone else but my family right now. So spill.”

“Yura…”

“You owe this to me.” And fuck, Yuri _hates_ playing that card, but he’s still so hurt by Otabek’s deception that he can’t bring himself to play fair. Otabek knows this, and yet he still willingly folds.

“Fine. On the condition that you _will_ speak to her after I tell you.” Yuri stares Otabek down, but Otabek’s not budging, jaw set. “Promise me.”

“Fine. I promise.”

Otabek squares his shoulders, looking worn, and suddenly Yuri is worried for him. He looks much too exhausted by whatever he’s holding onto. “Hey, Beka…” Yuri’s hand finds itself on Otabek’s cheek. Just because he’s mad, doesn’t mean he’s stopped caring. “Are you alright?”

Otabek just looks at him, and Yuri can tell. “No, not really.”

He begins telling the story.

 

* * *

 

 

  
(father)

Yuri stares at his reflection for far too long in the bathroom mirror. His face gets more and more contorted, until finally he raises up a fist to the glass. Otabek catches his wrist before he can swing and Yuri turns around snarling, feral in his rage, screaming “Let me go!”

“That's enough!” Otabek's deep voice cuts through his blind fury, where he can _taste_ red, where his eyes don't register much beyond objects to launch himself at, but… No, no that's _Beka_ . Beka, who is standing his ground despite Yuri’s complete loss of control. Beka, who, underneath his formidable strength, looks… pale. Afraid. _Of_ him? For him?

The minute he realizes that, Yuri’s feverish mania wanes. He forces his arm to go limp, forces his screams back into his throat, and when Beka still doesn't  let go, he presses Otabek's wrist to his face and whispers hoarsely, “I don't want to be like him, Beka.”

He refuses. Even if his face looks like him and his rage flames like him, Yuri will _never_ be like his father.

“It's my fault,” he whispers, sinking to the ground against the bathtub. “I'm just like him. I'm the reason she left.”

“Yura, _no you're not.”_

“My mother left because she was in an _abusive relationship_ with a guy who looks _just like me_!” Yuri explodes. “A guy who never gave a shit about us and was so FUCKING violent she had to _run away_ from him when I was 2 and hide with my grandparents! And then he fucking _stalked_ her down!? And she had to abandon me again?”

Yuri is very aware that he's hysterical, as much as he knows that Otabek most definitely was sugar coating the story. He's intentionally left a lot of areas vague, but the gist was horrible enough.

“Yura, she chose to protect you. You didn't make her do anything.”

“She spent years letting me _hate her_ so I could be safe! Beka, I was so … I didn't… What the fuck!?” Yuri wants to scream some more, just wordless rage, but he won't. Not in front of Beka. His mother spent years being terrified of a man who made her as pale and afraid as he'd made Beka a few moments ago. He will _never_ forgive himself if Beka ever looks at him like that again.

Otabek rocks him on the floor as he cries, and Yuri… Yuri feels grateful. That he found himself a man who was nothing like his father.

 

* * *

 

(truth)

He waits until the next day before he comes to visit his mother. Seeing his grandfather inside, Yuri suggests they take a walk. She wordlessly agrees and pulls on a coat. It looks well made, high quality wool. He catches the flash of a wedding ring and, not for the first time, he wonders what her life was like without him.

They migrate to a close-by park where she used to take him as a child. The playground had been renovated, but Yuri is grateful for the lack of nostalgia. They breathe in the cold for awhile, getting used to each other's presence.

“I know now, why you left,” he starts off blankly. Like ripping off a bandaid. She seems torn between relief and regret as she hangs her head. “Otabek told me.”

“I know I shouldn't be grateful... but I am. I should have been the one to tell you.” Her voice is weighted with guilt. “I hope you can forgive me, Yuri.”

Yuri wants to. But there's still so many questions he has for her, that forgiveness has to wait.

“Why did you marry him?” he asks fragilely. Desperately. “He was a monster.”

The steam escapes her mouth before she replies, “You never fall in love expecting it to turn out like this, darling. At the time, he _was_ the right person.” A hoarse laugh. “I pray you never have to understand.”  

That terrifies him. Love, she'd said. “But _how?”_

“You have to understand, he wasn't always violent.” She wraps the coat more tightly around herself. “It was enough that I made excuses for the times when he was.”

At the look of disbelief, she sighs and explains. “The same man who would hit me so hard my skin tore was the same man who bandaged me and kissed the bruises later. He was the same man who gave me his umbrella when it rained. My parents trusted him. It took me years to realize the monster and the man I loved were both him. I'd always seen them as separate people.”

“What changed then?”

“You,” she says simply, a tired strength in her soft eyes. “I could’ve lived like that, Yuri. For a long time, I think. But I never, ever would want that life for you. I refused.”

Yuri is openly crying now.

“I thought you left me.”

“I did.” Her face crumples. “I ran into him at the supermarket one day after I had left. I don't know how he found the city I was in, your grandparents had moved and changed their numbers years before… I didn't want him near you or them. I cut off all contact, threw away my phone. I told dedushka not to come looking for me.”

“I…” Yuri stifles a sob but doesn't quite manage it. “I'm so sorry. Mom, I'm so--”

The hug, when it comes, is unexpectedly firm. She smells like almond lotion and fabric softener, and is stronger than Yuri remembers. She holds him as he breaks down, apologizing over and over again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I'm so sorry I missed you growing up. I understood what I did by leaving... I accept the consequences. Especially when you were 15 and rejected the letter…”

“Why did you contact me then?”

She's quiet. “Do you remember the day of your senior debut? How dedushka couldn't be there?” Yuri nods. “I didn't… I didn't know, it was such a big day for you. I didn't know for so long, Yurochka.” And fuck, now she's crying too. “I had missed you all so much. Your father wasn't sentenced to prison until then. It took years of trials and me struggling to financially cope without him. I was granted a restraining order prior to that, but I was terrified of him getting out. That day was the only time I felt safe reaching out again.”

Yuri grasps her tighter. “I wish I'd known. I just saw Lara’s picture and thought… I thought you'd just moved on without me.”

“No, Yurochka. Luka--and eventually Larisa--didn't come until later... I was still trying to leave your father.” Katya smiles for the first time and Yuri feels lighter at the look on her face. “I'm sorry, I never mentioned him, did I? Luka is Larisa’s father… he was the one who prompted me to get legal help. He knew advocates and was actually one of the officers who answered the call on our house.” She looks ashamed again. “A neighbor reported a disturbance.”

“Tell me more about him,” Yuri prompts, sensing her draw in on herself. He wants to know about this man who protected her, made her happy. He's surprised by the gentle laugh she gives.

“You won't believe me, but he reminds me of your Otabek.” Yuri stills. “Luka was so patient. And determined. He believed me when nobody else did, when everyone wondered why I didn't just leave him. I'll never forget what he said to me when I met him.”

“What was it?”

“ _You're not weak for loving him. He's weak for breaking that trust.”_ She falters and he’s seen that look of love on her face somewhere before. “Luka helped me find work, and was a friend to me when I thought I was alone. He was such a good man. I didn't think good men existed anymore. He made me feel safe.”

Yuri recognizes that look now. It's the reflection captured in Beka’s dark pupils when they’re together. That's _his_ face when he looks at Beka.

“I was so careful around him at first,” Katya continues. “Because I remember what it was like to fall in love with someone I thought was good for me… I lived in women’s shelters and transitional houses for a while. Slowly, I realized he was different, that he was my friend first before he was anything else. I accepted his offer to live with him, and I insisted on paying rent at first… Eventually he told me it didn't feel right when I was someone he cared about so much.”

She wipes an errant tear from freezing on Yuri’s face. “He’s always wanted to meet you, you know. Him and Lara both. Well. Mostly Lara.”

“Why?”

“She grew up always wanting a big brother. We finally told her about you, and she watched your skating, even though she doesn’t skate herself...” Katya chuckles.

Fuck, now Yuri feels guilty for scaring her.

“I told her it wasn’t a good idea, that you weren’t interested in meeting us... I was so focused on punishing myself for what had happened. But Lara was only interested in meeting you and dedushka. She knew it wasn't fair. We were both so afraid, but she was the one who got on that train first.”

Lara… Lara reminds him of Katsuki, Yuri belatedly realizes. So sweet and frightened and deceptively weak at first. No wonder he’d hated her on sight. But, if she's anything like Yuuri, he can already tell he’s going to love her too.

“She’s very brave, Yurochka.”

“Braver than me,” he mumbles, feeling a tentative kiss on his forehead.

“No,” his mother disagrees lightly. “You’re brave too. You raised yourself and supported your grandfather when I wasn’t there. You’re so talented and so handsome and…”

“Even if I look like _him_?” Fuck, he's shaking.

“You aren't him,” she exclaims sharply. Her voice breaks. “You'll never be him. You're more than he ever was, and everything I've ever wanted for you to be. Seeing you here, so tall and grown up and in love with someone who is good to you… It’s all I could’ve asked for. I'm so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Yuri whispers, hugging her tightly to make up for all the years he wasn’t able to say it. “Thank you… _ya lyublyu tebya, mama._ ”

She doesn't speak for a moment. Yuri pulls back and wipes away her tears with the edge of his scarf. “I love you too, Yurochka,” she says at last, breaking into a watery smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i used to work in a research lab that aided survivors of domestic abuse and sexual assault. for anyone who is currently going through interpartner violence or knows someone currently going through it: i love you. it's not your fault
> 
> https://www.domesticshelters.org/national-global  
> (for both women AND men who have experienced interpartner abuse in US & Canada)
> 
> http://www.vachss.com/help_text/domestic_violence_intl.html  
> (scroll to Organizations/Agencies for international resources in the US, Philipines, Canada, UK, Sweden, and Germany to name a few)
> 
> http://www.feminist.org/911/crisis.html  
> (provides comprehensive national services in the US)
> 
> https://www.rainn.org/  
> (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network in US)
> 
> http://www.thehotline.org/  
> 1-800-799-7233 | 1-800-787-3224 (TTY for those who are deaf/hard of hearing)  
> (24/7 US hotline for domestic violence)


	7. i wanna stay with you (until we're grey and old)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say You Won't Let Go - James Arthur  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0yW7w8F2TVA
> 
> guys, i'm not ready for this to end, but i'm also so FUCKIN READY for this fic to be over, i legit have carpal tunnel now
> 
> from the bottom of my heart, thank you. i wrote this story for myself at first, because i... just needed to write it, i guess. but the thought that so many people connected to it... it's kind of beyond words? hearing the impact it had on each of you was incredibly humbling. 
> 
> here's the last of it, as promised. i love your faces, enjoy

* * *

 

(anniversaries)

On their first anniversary, Yuri had given him the jar of hand folded notes and an acoustic guitar Otabek had been eyeing but never would’ve gotten for himself. Not to be outdone, Otabek bought a second helmet and rode them up to a summit for a midnight picnic with a fold out telescope in his backpack.

On their second anniversary, Yuri had blown his gift out of the water by giving him a chronograph watch. It’s still his favorite; waterproof with a plated steel band, nice enough to wear out and durable enough that he didn’t worry about it on the bike.

Their third anniversary was a shy affair, all the unspoken years of their time apart welling in between each course at the nice, 5 star restaurant Otabek had picked… Before they said fuck it, got everything to-go, and went home to have sex on the couch, then the kitchen counter, and even in the bathtub (they weren't even actively trying that time) before making it to the bed.

Their fourth, fifth, and sixth anniversaries followed the tradition of trying out something new together. And so they tried rock climbing (they liked it), a music festival (they had mixed feelings about it), and memorably, trekking Murmansk by snowmobiles to see the Northern Lights (they loved it).

Their seventh anniversary, they got snowed in. And so they shrugged, got some vodka, and landed on a competitive cooking show while trying to find a movie. Less than 3 episodes in, they drunkenly decided it would be fun to be bitter rivals for a day. Yuri gratuitously documented it for Otabek's YouTube channel. Beka hogged all the good ingredients, narrowly avoided singeing off his own eyebrows, and ended up with a questionable pilaf that included salmon, roasted mushrooms, and cashews. It tasted surprisingly good, even if Yuri’s apricot jam piroshkis earned him the grudging victory.

They don't really do anything outrageous after that, finding that they enjoyed keeping their anniversary low-key, until they hit their ninth and Yuri gives him a ring.

 

* * *

 

(brave)

Atiya’s call goes to voicemail; she must still be at work. He waits for the little beep before he nervously takes a breath. “Hey, Atiya. It’s Yuri. Just wanted to call and see if you had a few minutes. I… I need some advice. It’s about Beka.” He heaves in another breath, realizing he’s shaking, just a little. “I want to propose. And...  I kind of wanted to know how you broke the news to your parents, when you and Joseph got engaged. I’m asking for their permission.” He can do this. “Just give me a call back whenever you’re free. I’d appreciate it. Thanks.”

 

::

 

It’s not just because he wants to see a wedding band on Otabek’s hand that he’s asking.

He’s doesn’t want any more holidays where Beka’s anxious about coming home. Where Yuri has to awkwardly keep their relationship low-key at family parties--not because he’s ashamed, but because he doesn’t want Otabek to get into silent fights on his behalf. He doesn’t want to walk into a kitchen at 2 a.m. to see Otabek standing with a half-drunken glass of water, carefully pretending he’s not breaking down (because his mother adores Serik’s girlfriend, and dotes on Atiya’s half-Polynesian daughter, yet still thinks that he and Yuri will one day go back to being just friends). Yuri doesn’t want to have to take that glass away, hold Beka close, and painfully realize he’s always going to represent a choice to him: between his love or his family.

Yuri wants to do this thing that scares the living shit out of him. Even if they say no, at least Yuri respected them enough to try. 

 

::

 

Atiya calls back the next day and it's comforting just how much she gets it. Getting their parents to accept someone who isn't the right ethnicity, religion, or even gender as they wanted wouldn't be easy. But they've done it before (mostly). They can do it again. She make plans to have Yuri fly in for a day and leave the following morning. Serik comes up with a plausible alibi for him, but Otabek must somehow taste the nervousness when they kiss goodbye at the airport, because he asks him about it. Yuri, thank god, is a better liar than Beka, and he makes it onto the plane without arousing suspicion.  

He spends most of the flight staring at the clouds, trying to formulate the words to ask Beka’s parents when he lands.

 

::

 

His speech goes something like this: Yuri’s read somewhere that the high of feeling in love wears off after the first 5 years.

And sure, some years he’s loved Otabek less than others. And some days, especially when they fight or they’re in a rut or they’re each going through their own problems, Yuri wakes up and forgets.

But Yuri loves him. He’s loved him for as long as he can remember. Each and every day, he’s _worked_ to remember. They’ve kept at it, even when they didn’t feel like it, even when it would’ve been easier to get lazy… And their feelings waxed and waned, reliable as lunar phases. Each patch of darkness followed by the promise of a glow, given enough time and effort and patience.

Yuri doesn’t know how _not_ to love Beka. He’s had too much time and practice getting good at it.

That (more than anything else) is what prompts him to get up when the plane lands, determinedly pull his duffle from the top rack, and face Almaty.

 

* * *

 

(acceptance)

Yuri can hardly believe it. After Serik and Atiya both broke the ice for him, even going so far as to stay in the room to act as buffers…

After Yuri voiced everything as best he knew how, prepared to gracefully accept a rejection…

“Really?”

Otabek’s mother’s face is carefully expressionless, but something peaceful seems to settle over her at Yuri’s awed relief.

“You’re respectful to have come to us first. And brave, knowing where I stood before you even asked.” She looks to her husband, who only squeezes her hand in encouragement. She sighs, her eyes softening.

“How could we say no? I love my children,” she explains. Yuri recognizes Beka’s fondness within her gaze. “You’ve been nothing but good to Otabek since they day you met. I’m sorry I haven’t done the same, even if unintentionally.”

Yuri’s eyes are blurring, and he’s shocked to realize he’s been moved to tears.

He never thought they would make it this far. But here he is.

With Atiya and Serik grinning in wonder, thrilled for him. With Otabek’s father firmly clasping his hand, trusting him. With Otabek’s mother, gracefully bestowing on him the tiniest of smiles.

He did it.

 

* * *

 

(proposal)

He had wondered if hinting at a trip to Barcelona was too much of a dead give away, but Beka could be remarkably, blessedly trusting sometimes and Yuri had no problem taking advantage of that today. They rent a motorcycle, and Beka laughs at the nostalgia, sending clouds of pigeons flying as they zoom across the plaza. They stop for hot street food in La Rambla, getting buzzed off sangria and minty cold mojitos. They end up at Park Guell as if drawn there, and Yuri's heart is beating so hard against his chest he swears Otabek can hear it. They admire Gaudi’s architecture until, slowly, the crowds begin to die out as the park closes. Otabek finally tugs on his hand to leave, but Yuri shakes his head. “I talked to the guides. They're letting us stay back a little longer.” Otabek looks confused, and the crowds are almost entirely gone by now… Just a few stragglers…

“What for?” he asks, and Yuri takes a deep breath.

“Let's get to the top,” he suggests. Otabek follows him, bemused. They're facing the city now, alone, and the shadows glitter on the mosaic chips.

“I forgot how beautiful it was,” Beka admires.

“Feels just like back then, huh? I remember when you asked me to be your friend, right here.”

“Yeah,” Otabek agrees. “I still can't believe you said yes.” He doesn't notice that Yuri is down on one knee.

“Funny…” Otabek's face when he turns away from the view is priceless. “I was hoping you'd say the same thing?” Yuri opens the lid, hands steady even though his voice isn't. Nestled on the cushion rests a simple, titanium band inlaid with mother of pearl. “I asked your parents...”

Otabek is frozen in shock.

“They said yes.”

“ _How_ the…! What th--Holy fuck.” Beka only unfreezes to swear softly again in Kazakh, one hand gripping his hair. Somehow, that eases Yuri.

“Yes. They did. Beka… Are you gon--”

“Yura,” Otabek laughs, one hand over his eyes, to hide the fact he's overwhelmed. “I _swear_ if you finish that with ‘Are you gonna marry me or not,’ I'm going t--”

“Gonna do what? _Marry me?”_ Yuri’s face cracks into a grin. “Ooh I'm so scared.”

Otabek, fond and frustrated, backlit by the saffron glow of Barcelona… has got to be the most beautiful thing Yuri’s ever seen. His dark eyes are shining amber, and something in Yuri _aches._  “Yes.”

Yuri doesn't know who reaches for who first, but it doesn't _matter,_ because suddenly they're both on the ground, holding onto each other so tightly that Yuri forgets where he is.

“Yes,” Otabek whispers again, and Yuri buries his face in Beka's neck, kissing the tendon there. “Fuck.”

“Are you gonna kiss me or not?” Yuri can't resist pointing out, and Yuri half suspects Otabek crushes their lips together just to shut him up.

 

* * *

  
(endings)

Yuri hears the front door open and sighs heavily, signalling his location in the bedroom. He waits until Otabek sinks the mattress behind him before leaning backwards. Otabek cards a comforting hand through Yuri’s hair, while Yuri asks, “How did you do this? It’s so…” He gives up halfway, shrugging, a strange mix of emotions in his voice.

“I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter,” Otabek replies honestly. “But I think it was time for you, hmm? You had an amazing run.”

Yuri opens his eyes, landing on the news article open on his laptop. One of the videos is from when Yuri announced his retirement earlier that day, and it’s seconds away from playing whatever is next in its feed. Otabek gently closes out of it. He closes out of each tab, all the photos of Yuri hugging Yakov and Lilia tightly, the statements they’ve given on his behalf. When his laptop is blank, Otabek Googles “funny cat videos” before typing a little “?” onto the end of his search entry. It blinks at them both, waiting for Yuri to approve. Yuri smiles weakly.

“Maybe not today.”

Otabek silently closes the laptop. He kneels down at the foot of the bed, until his eyes are below Yuri’s. Yuri cradles Beka’s face with one hand and they stay like that for a little while.

“Do you miss it?” Yuri asks finally, when he finds his voice again.

“All the time,” Otabek whispers. “But that’s not my life anymore.”

“What happens now?” Otabek rarely hears Yuri sound that small and uncertain. Otabek recalls a conversation in a cafe in Switzerland and chuckles lowly. “What?”

“Anything,” Otabek replies, silently thanking Christophe in his head. “This is the beginning of anything you want.”

“But I don’t know what I want.”

Otabek catches the hand holding his face and turns it so he can kiss Yuri’s engagement ring. “You will.” Yuri smiles. “Give it some time.”

 

* * *

 

(pause)

 _“_... _and it’s been going pretty well, I think that I’m going to meet his parents this weekend.”_ Mila sighs contentedly and Yuri hears the sounds of a pillow being fluffed. He shifts the phone to his left ear, so his hands are free. _“Let’s hope they don’t hate me on sight... What’ve you been up to?”_

“Just got finished shooting for a fragrance with Dolce & Gabbana.” He tries to detangle the hard hairspray keeping his perfectly tousled locks in place, shrugging off his coat in favor of one of Otabek’s worn-in flannels. “Might as well ride these sponsorships until they’re over.”

_“Ah. I’ll be on the lookout for it. How’s Otabek?”_

“Good. In Toronto right now, he’s got a convention. His flight comes back on Monday.”

 _“You didn’t go with him?”_ Yuri shrugs uncomfortably before realizing Mila can’t see.

“Not this one. I went to the last few... That’s his thing.” Mila gets it despite how awkwardly he expresses it.

_“You’re still looking for your own thing, huh?”_

“Yeah.”

_“Weren’t you pretty set on coaching? Or was it choreography?”_

“I don’t know, I’ve been talking to Yakov about it. The old man suggests giving it time though. No idea why.”

Mila’s warm laughter over the phone sends a wave of nostalgia through him. He misses her more than he realized.

 _“I think I see what he's trying to do. Have you ever considered anything that wasn't related to skating?”_ The very thought of it seems blasphemous.

“What the fuck? Of course not.” Mila’s pointed silence over the phone is answer enough. “Is that what he's trying to do? Fuck that.”

_“It's just a thought. If there's ever a time to explore other paths, now would be it.”_

“Maybe,” Yuri says just to appease her, before switching the subject. “When are _you_ retiring? You're an old bag of bones at this point, I don't know how you're still on the ice.”

 _“Honey, you wish you looked this good,”_ and Yuri can visualize the smirk on her face. _“Don't let modeling go to your head.”_

“Doubt it.” Yuri scoffs.

 _“I think I’ll finish my degree first_ , _”_ she replies. _“Before I retire.”_  

… Oh. Yuri forgot. Unlike him, Mila actually took her schooling seriously. It may have taken her a lot longer to graduate, but she did it in between being one of the reigning powerhouses in women’s singles... for the last decade. Suddenly, he feels self conscious.

“Congratulations. When’s the commencement ceremony?” 

 _“Don’t worry, I’ll send you an invitation.”_ Mila laughs happily. _“God, I can’t wait to be done! I want to start applying to law firms already.”_  

The idea of Mila looking forward to anything before she was even off the ice feels strange to Yuri. Maybe he did need a little perspective.

 _“So. When’s the wedding,”_ she interjects slyly, and Yuri is grateful for the change in topic.

“Don’t worry, I’ll send you an invitation,” he mocks, satisfied with her indignant squeak. Some things never changed.

 

* * *

 

(continuation)

After a lot of self reflection, Yuri decides that... Maybe law school was for Mila. And reinventing one's career might be for Beka. And falling recklessly in love only to fuck off and become a coach in Japan might be for Victor. But Yuri is Yuri and his first love will always circle back to the ice… One way or another.

Even though he's still relatively young to be a choreographer, he gets approached by a lot of coaches on behalf of their skaters. He's never short on offers, because behind Yuri’s own titanic accomplishments, rests the accomplishments of every legend who’s ever trained him: Yakov Feltsman, Lilia Baranovskaya, Victor Nikiforov, and even Yuuri Katsuki…

Yuri belongs to this world, through and through. The sponsorships from various major brands remain constant, with Yuri doing shoots every few months for energy drinks and luxury cars.

Yuri eventually tries out coaching... for exactly one month; before promptly realizing he's nowhere near patient enough, calling Yakov, and apologizing for putting him through a decade of this shit (much to Yakov’s smug delight). Instead, he watches skaters bring themselves to their highest potential using his moves and feels a rush of pride. He'll leave the other parts to their coaches.

In his spare time, Yuri uses his face and name to raise awareness campaigns against domestic violence, quietly aiding Katya whenever she volunteers at women's shelters during his visits. Her happiness is worth even more to him than watching his skaters medal.

 

* * *

 

(dual citizenship) 

It takes roughly 5 years of permanent residence and a lengthy application process. It's a lot of permits and calls to international consulates who redirect them to multiple offices asking for different paperwork. But when Otabek shows him the official seal stamped on his Kazakhstan passport, and pulls out the new passport in Russian red and gold... Yuri shouts before picking him up and swinging them all around the apartment. They fall into a graceless heap on the couch and Yuri is still kissing him all over, Otabek laughing breathlessly as he struggles to get free.

 

* * *

 

(commitment) 

In hindsight, it was a good thing that Yuri and Otabek both had people in their lives who were better wedding planners than they were. Atiya expertly negotiates the cultural and religious aspects on their behalf, cutting out the beshtar ceremony and the proposal delegation (on account of how impractical it would be to fly everyone to Moscow). Yuri is even more grateful when Serik argues against their mother's more traditional wishes for a bride price, saying exasperatedly, “That's a sexist tradition and they're both men! Which one is even the bride?” Yuri does wear the traditional outfits though, with Katya and Nikolai taking special care to help draft the marriage contract, despite not being Muslim. Meanwhile, Yuri happily left all the stressful parts of the reception in Yuuri and Victor's hands, enjoying the absolute authority with the bare minimum of work. He only gave his input where necessary, delighting in the animal themes he'd incorporated: a tiger lily centerpiece and bouquet, [a silk and brocade cheetah print robe](http://picture-cdn.wheretoget.it/ynqfa1-l-610x610-jacket-coat-printed+long+coat-longline+jacket-throw-animal+print-cheetah+print-rihanna-rihanna+style-robe-versace-long+coat-fur+coat-winter+coat.jpg) (which was _vintage Moschino Couture,_ so fuck off Victor), and a tiered cake decorated with edible ink Chinese tigers.

In the end, Yuuri and Victor do a good job. Just a simple, small wedding in Almaty… well, “small”.  There's all 1 million of Otabek's extended family, plus all of _Yuri's_ small but devoted family, plus all their ice skating peers who grew closer to them over the years.

Yuri doesn't know why he worried. Everything, in the end, turns out perfect. His beloved grandpa walks (well, wheels) him down the aisle, his mother holds onto Luka and Lara’s hands as they all blink back tears, and Otabek…

Otabek looks like a fucking vision standing at the end of the aisle, darkly handsome and strong and framed with boughs of white magnolias. God, he loves him so much. Yuri can't believe this is real. That they defied tradition enough that they can stand here today, proud, surrounded with acceptance and love.

He exchanges trinity rings with Beka (the Russian part of the wedding), doesn't let go of his hand for the rest of the Neke Qiyu (except for when they sign their names on the marriage contract) and kisses him after it's all over (like they have all the time in the world, like he can't hear the thunderous clapping and cheering and strident wolf whistles, like forever begins and ends with Beka's hand in his hair and the sweet melt of their lips against each other's).

 _I love you_ , Otabek mouths when they finally pull away, eyes crinkling, and Yuri _literally wakes up to this every morning_ but his heart still pounds in his chest _._ This is real.

“Ready for the real Russian part of this wedding?” Yuri whispers, right before they’re flooded with friends and family.

“I’m drinking you under the table,” Otabek decides casually, before switching tracks to intercept all their well wishes, and yup, this is why Yuri’s in love.

* * *

 

(best man)

Because it would’ve been a bit tacky to be each other’s best man, Otabek’s former coach Denis gleefully takes up the responsibility. Yuri prepares himself to get dragged, having known the honest man through basically their entire relationship. He is not disappointed.

“So, Otabek met you when he was 12 years old. And no one told us back then that you were going to change his life. I didn’t know you were going to become his best friend, or that he was going fly to Russia to be with you, or that you were going to propose. If somebody had told me back then that we would be standing here right now... I probably would’ve laughed, because what kind of soulmate forgets who you are until you rescue them 6 years later? Kidding, Yuri. Put the glass down. I’m sure you thought of him in the same way! Once you actually remembered who he was… Sorry, he specifically told me to bring that up. Don't look at me, _you’re_ the one marrying him. Anyways. You’ve both grown so much together... I couldn't have imagined any of this if I tried. And years from, decades from now... I can’t imagine the Yuri that’s going to be waiting for us. But I know that Beka already loves him. And that’s good enough for me. Best wishes to the both of you, and all the happiness in the world.”  
  
Saying fuck it to gender norms, Yuri’s best man is Mila, who’d numbly whispered, “Really?” when he’d asked. “I would’ve thought you’d pick Yuuri or Victor.”  
  
“They weren’t my first friend,” Yuri answered, shrugging.

“I thought that was Beka,” she tried to joke but Yuri chuckled and shook his head.

“We both know it was always y--” He got tackled into a strong and tearful hug before he could even finish.

“I mean, I don't know what else to say,” Mila starts off, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Beka, I remember when he told me you guys had moved in together and my exact words were, ‘You get to come home to _that_ every day? Are you kidding me?’ Seriously, some people get all the luck. And I’m not just saying that because you’re pretty and can sing. I’ve seen you both get through some really amazing, awful, painful, beautiful times together. Yuri asked me to make you cry, so I'm just going to say… That it’s been what, 15 years? Otabek, you make Yuri do crazy things just by existing... Like, _he’s less of an asshole_ , and color coordinates, and eats real vegetables. And Yuri, you make Otabek smile, which I thought was physically impossible until I saw it with my own two eyes. It’s kind of incredible you found the perfect person to grow with, in every way. Though I guess that’s expected, considering you’re _childhood sweethearts_ who grew up to be _best friends._ WE GET IT. YOU WIN. Set the bar lower for the rest of us, jeez. You both deserve each other, and I know forever’s a long time, but I hope that never goes away. Here’s to the happy couple!” 

 

* * *

 

(in-laws)

“Okay,” Otabek says sternly.  “Now what do you say when they offer you more food?”

Yuri stares back at him seriously. “Tell them I’m getting some more right now,” he dutifully recites.

“And what do you do if they try to force food on you anyways?”

“Dodge it, and then try to offer them food instead.”

“And if they ask about our sex life? Specifically, who tops and who bottoms?”

“Tell them I need at least 2 more drinks before I’m willing to answer. Then run after they give them to me.”

“And what if they force you take more shots?”

Yuri smirks. “I tell them to give me the bottle.”

Otabek grins, pushing the hair back from Yuri’s forehead to plant a soft kiss. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

 

* * *

 

(sacrifices)

It's big. It woofs playfully at an unacceptable volume and Yuri can just FEEL the affection oozing out of it. 

“Please?” Otabek currently has his arms around it. They've been roughhousing. A massive fluffy head wiggles under one arm, ecstatic to see them. Its tail is about to knock down everything within a foot of it. It's so _dumb._

“Yurochka?” Beka asks again. Great, now there's two pairs of brown eyes begging him. They were only supposed to be dog sitting for Otabek's friend, Yuri didn't sign up for this. “Kenji is going to be traveling too much to take care of him anymore… and he's had all his shots. He's trained.”

“Trained,” Yuri repeats, placing as much skepticism as possible in that one syllable.

“Yeah. He's really smart.” Doubtful.

“Beka, we have two cats. How are we supposed to take in a dog?”

“Kiska and Tasha like him.” Okay, now he's just flat out lying. 

“What is he even?” 

“Malamute and Golden Retriever? He was a rescue, it’s hard to tell.”

Yuri cannot even believe he's considering this. But Beka looks so happy and _alright_ so the dog wasn’t a complete nightmare and maybe taking him on walks was good exercise.

“Fine,” Yuri sighs, resigning himself to his fate. “We can keep Nemo.”

“Nova.”

“Whatever _.”_

 

* * *

 

(homesick)

It's in the months after their honeymoon that Yuri notices Otabek's a little… off. He calls home more than he used to, starts group chatting with his siblings on Facebook. He’s oddly more wistful and withdrawn whenever they visit Nikolai or Katya. One day, Lara hugs Otabek after he proofreads one of her term papers and jokingly says “Thanks, big bro”. Yuri recognizes it immediately in Otabek's pause before he says, with a touch more emotion than called for, “Of course, Lariska.”

Otabek doesn't realize he's homesick until Yuri brings it to his attention. 

“I'm fine, Yura.” Otabek doesn't even look up from his book, annoyed with himself for not realizing it. 

“Beka…” Yuri sighs. “I can tell.” 

“It’s fine,” Otabek repeats. Yuri settles next to him, gently closing the book in his hands when it's clear Beka's no longer reading. He waits, patiently, until Otabek cracks. “... I don't know. I’m used to it. It usually comes back around the holidays, or when I crave their cooking... There's not really a Kazakh community here. But then again, there never is, anywhere I’ve lived? So I don't know why I'm feeling it now. It’s been a long time since…” Since what? Since he lived with them? Since he's been in Almaty? Since he's been just an Altin instead of Altin-Plisetsky? “It’ll pass.”

“Would you like to again?” 

Wait. What? 

“Like to do what again?”

“Live with them,” Yuri says, like it's the easiest thing in the world, but Otabek can tell the hidden resolve behind that offer. Yuri doesn't say anything unless he can back it up.

“You mean... move?” Otabek asks slowly.

“Yeah. Back to Almaty. We can look at apartments.” Otabek just _stares_ at him. “What?”

“Nothing. You just really love me.”

Yuri looks like he doesn't know whether to sigh or groan in disbelief, so he settles for both. “Yes. _I thought that was_ _obvious._ ”

Otabek looks away, and Yuri's hand finds his. His thumb plays absently with Yuri's ring, the trinity bands a comforting distraction.

“You have family here too,” Otabek manages at last.

“You're my family,” Yuri says softly.

“Yes. But you've only just gotten a chance to know yours. And I know what that's like. I'm not taking you away from them if I can help it.”

“That's not how it works.” Yuri looks frustrated. “You can't just sacrifice your own happiness so I get to keep mine.”

“But it makes the most sense,” Otabek replies, gathering his own thoughts. “And..." He hesitates. "Honestly? Atiya’s raising her own family by now. Serik has a steady career and a serious girlfriend. And my parents don't… need me. They’re healthy and doing the things they never got to when all of us were still at home. I can visit any time.”

“But there's no Kazakh community here,” Yuri points out, undeterred. “You said it yourself.”

Otabek doesn't know how to put it into words. He misses the idea of it; the big family gatherings and festivals for Nauryz and nostalgia. But Otabek realizes he doesn't picture his family anymore when he thinks of home. They're his childhood, and even if he did move back, it's not the same. He thinks of Yuri and St. Petersburg now, and the idea of home being his husband and their 2 cats and dog… it's new and yet it's not. That's how it's been for a long time now. And that's how he knows he's grown up.

“Guess I’d better show you how to make manti,” Otabek teases, squeezing Yuri's hand. “Like a good Kazakhstani housewife. Maybe then I won't miss it so much.”

Yuri grins as Otabek hides a smirk. “Asshole.”

“My love,” Otabek returns sarcastically before Yuri surprises him by leaning forward. The kiss is searing, heated, and Otabek blanks out momentarily. Their breathing picks up until Otabek's on his back on the couch and Yuri is braced above him.

“My life,” Yuri answers lightly, one hand rested on Otabek's chest, and oh shit, what the fuck? That still gives him butterflies. Otabek just lies there, eyes on Yuri, chest rising and falling a little too fast. Time slows down, fragile.

“Kiss me,” Otabek commands softly, and Yuri (who’s been absently unbuttoning Otabek's shirt with one hand) leans down to comply.

 

* * *

 

(kids)

Yuri realizes 2 very important things the day he holds Lara’s baby boy in his arms. The first is the choking realization that his little sister is all grown up now, and the second is that he never realized how tenderly Otabek held babies before. Beka cites it as having practice with his nieces and nephews, but Yuri is too used to reading him. They make eye contact as Otabek hands back Lariska’s son, and it passes through them unspoken.

Later that night, Otabek leans up on one arm in bed and asks “Yura, what do you think of--”

“Yes.”

“You didn't even let me finish.”

“The answer’s still yes.”

 

::

 

After a long, admittedly one-sided discussion, they decide on using Otabek's sperm instead of Yuri's. Well,  _Yuri_ decided. He knows Otabek’s father has always wanted grandkids, and it means so much more to Beka than it did to him. Otabek pretty much is just arguing for the sake of arguing at this point. Yuri lets Otabek huff, knowing he's going to win.

What surprises Yuri is when Lara offers to be their surrogate. Yuri had been in the process of searching, and the papers almost drop from his hands.

“Holy shit. Lariska, _no_ , that’s too much. You're already taking care of your own--” But she's already waving away his protests.

“We both know it's easier with a family member or friend, Yura. And besides, this way the baby will have both of your blood.”  Lara gets a little quiet though, her confidence faltering. “I mean, I know we're only half siblings so technically the baby will only get one quarter, but...”

She's silenced by Yuri's hug.

“You're my sister, Lara. Stop.”

Silence. Her eyes water and she pushes her damp face into his shoulder. They both hold on for a long time, paperwork forgotten.

* * *

 

(parents)

She’s born in June. Otabek holds her to his chest, rocking her blanket swaddled form so Lara can get some rest. Yuri, who had been feeding Lara ice chips after the delivery, sets it down and gently pats the sweat from Lara’s sleeping brow. Lara’s husband is out for the moment with their son, and Yuri comes behind Beka, arms circling his shoulders. Otabek hardly notices; she's so soft and warm and he never wants to let go.

“You're crying, love.” Yuri kisses his temple and huh, he didn't notice.

They name her Nikita, which is the closest they can get to Nikolai without it hurting Yuri or Lara. “He wouldn’t mind it being a boy’s name,” Yuri explains to Otabek, who only pulls him in and nods. He would have loved her.

 

::

 

Once she gets old enough to have distinguishable features, she begins to look the way most half-Asian babies do; all pale skin and feathery chestnut hair. Her eyes are dark and huge like Beka's, but the easy rosiness to her mouth and cheeks is all Yuri (come to think of it, so is her temper).

“Our kid has no eyebrows,” Beka observes one day. “This is all your fault.”

“We used _your sperm,"_  Yuri protests, warming up a bottle. “Blame Lara.”

“Still your fault,” Otabek persists, dabbing away the drool from her chubby cheeks. Nikita hiccups and a little bubble forms on her lips. She accidentally punches it away with one mitten. Otabek’s never been more in love.

 

::

 

Life starts to mold itself around her.

Yuri and Otabek both make big adjustments to their workloads, travel less, and feel their relationship evolving faster than it ever had before. Almost overnight they find themselves different people, and Otabek remembers the advice given to him by every married couple with kids: “Always put your marriage first.” He never appreciated the importance of that until now, surviving on 3 hours of sleep per night and still having to manage the daily life that existed before their daughter--bills to pay and pets to care for and project deadlines. Yuri is still working on choreography for competitions that are as immovable as ever, and Otabek can’t imagine how to take the extra time out to make each other feel special. Every spare second they get they’re falling asleep on each other.

It doesn't take long before he realizes the old romantic gestures from before are just replaced. Yuri having dinner ready and Nikita asleep before Otabek comes home has become sexier than finding him fully naked in a bed of rose petals. Every time Otabek says “You go ahead and sleep, I’ll take care of her,” he watches Yuri _melt._ So maybe it wasn’t as hard as he thought.

 

::

 

They both still do little things. Neck or foot massages in front of the TV. Favorite desserts picked up on the way home. Drawing warm baths while the other shushes Nika’s wailing. Otabek braiding Yuri's hair so it doesn't get in the way.

One time Otabek blearily wakes up with Nikita softly curled on his chest, and finds Yuri just watching them from afar, his face propped up on one hand. Otabek feels like a trainwreck; shirtless and unshaven and splashed all over with baby formula and spit-up.

“Enjoying the view?” he asks, voice low so as not to wake Nika up. Yuri smiles.

“Yup.”

“Must be your favorite.”

“Nah,” he drawls, stretching.

“Sorry, Yura." Otabek shifts minutely, still protectively cradling her. "Can’t always have a gold medal around my neck.” 

“You think that’s my favorite view?” Yuri scoffs.

“I have no idea, actually. Enlighten me.”

So maybe he’s fishing for compliments. Sue him, he needed it. Otabek expects something cheesy and romantic, like how he looked the day Yuri proposed, or the day they first met. But it’s been almost 20 years and Yuri still finds ways to surprise him. Yuri joins them, crouching down so he’s eye-level. 

“Mm, it’s when I wake up first actually, and you're still asleep.” Otabek blinks. “Sometimes there's enough time before my alarm goes off for me to just… lie there and enjoy it.” He rests his head on Otabek’s thigh. “I always want to kiss you, but you're a light sleeper. So I wait until it goes off and you open your eyes first.”

“... That’s creepy,” Otabek deadpans, to cover up his blush.

“You’re the one who asked,” Yuri smirks. “I’ll admit, this is a close second." 

“I look like I haven’t slept or showered in days.”

“You look like I dreamed you up,” Yuri replies sincerely, stroking Nikita’s plump cheek. “Now shut up and let me enjoy it.”

This man is going to be the death of him. It becomes doubly true later, when Yuri’s on his knees in front of him in the shower, sucking him off as the water clumps his golden lashes. Otabek comes so hard he rips the shower curtain. They'll fix that later, but right now Nova is licking at their toes as they climb into bed and Yuri fits himself in his arms. Nikita burbles quietly on her front between the two of them, sleepily grasping her pacifier, and Otabek... 

God. He doesn't even have the words for this feeling.

 

* * *

 

(expectations)

If anyone ever told Yuri that he’d be having lunch with JJ effing Leroy someday, calmly discussing their families, he would’ve kicked them in the throat. But here he is, and it’s not nearly as bad as he imagined. Nikita is 2, and dangerously smart, toddling on freakishly fast legs around their backyard. JJ’s own kids (well, preteens by now) are trying to play Frisbee with her. They look like they’re having a hard time; she keeps purposefully tossing it the wrong direction so they'll fetch it for her. Otabek just lets them struggle as he helps Isabella pick apples from their overburdened tree. Yuri grins.

“I have no idea how you did this,” Yuri says as JJ takes another bite of his panini. “You and Isabella were like, in your 20’s. Beka and I are grown-ass adults and we barely keep up with Nika.” JJ shrugs as he chews.

“Competitions definitely weren’t our favorite times. It got easier once I retired though. Bella was a hot-shot senior graphic designer by then and started making like, $120,000 a year.”

“Wow.”

“Yup,” JJ declares proudly. “She's amazing! I’m a trophy husband. Well, not really, I still coach part-time and record music. But I spend the rest of it picking the kids up and taking care of the house.”

“Wow,” Yuri repeats, eyebrow raised. “I never thought I’d see the day you loved someone more than yourself.”

“I never thought I would either,” JJ replies simply, watching his sons out of the corner of his eye. He’s a good dad, all things considered, and Yuri definitely finds him less annoying because of it.

“Are they skaters too?” JJ shakes his head.

“Justin is, but Liam never got into it. He does water-polo and paints.”

“Oh. They never felt pressured?” JJ looks at him a little too knowingly.

“I mean, they did at first. You know how it is, with my parents legacy, and then mine and my siblings. We’re practically ice skating royalty,” JJ preens and Yuri rolls his eyes. “But no. I made sure they didn’t feel… forced. I know what that’s like.”

Yuri glances at him sharply, his meal forgotten. “Is that how it was for you? Getting pressured into skating?”

“Kind of,” JJ chuckles. “It’s hard to escape the expectations. Why? You sound worried.”

“Just... That’s kind of already how it is for Nika,” Yuri mutters, looking out to the garden where she’s terrorizing some squirrels. Liam picks her up by the belly, and swings her around, like an airplane. She squeals with laughter. “She’s only 2, but people are already expecting big things from her.”

“Well... yeah. You and Otabek were kind of a big deal on the ice. Both of you.”

“Right.” Yuri pushes his salad around his plate. “That’s just a lot of pressure.”

“I see.” Yuri looks up. JJ swigs his beer, mellow and content. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. I mean, teach her about it for sure, because the ice is a beautiful thing and she should at least have the option of knowing it. But don’t let her think this is her only path.”

“How?”

JJ shrugs. “Otabek is a musician. You work with domestic abuse organizations. She’ll see you both doing that and turn out fine.”

If anyone would’ve told Yuri that JJ Leroy would someday make him feel better about himself and his future, he would’ve punched them in both kidneys.

“Thanks, JJ,” Yuri says, marking the first time in history he’s used that phrase sincerely.

“Anytime,” JJ laughs easily.

 

* * *

 

(legacy)  
  
Nikita doesn't like it at first, because she keeps falling. The first time she did, she hugged Otabek's legs and refused to get back on the ice. Yuri gently presses the bruise on her knee and she squirms. "Nothing's broken, kiddo. Do you want to try again?"  
  
She shakes her head firmly 'no'. "I'm no good," she explains, but there's a stubborn wateriness to her eyes.   
  
"It's your first time. Why would you need to be good?" Otabek asks gently.   
  
"Papa is good," Nikita says, with her eyes to the ground. "And yeka is good. I'm no good."

"You don't have to be good, Nika." She looks incredibly doubtful, glancing balefully at Otabek. "I promise." Yuri extends a hand, waits for her to think it over.

"... Promise?" she asks in a small voice at last, one red mitten uncurling from Beka's thigh.

"Promise. I won't let go."

Some days, she's Otabek's daughter in her watchful caution and intelligent eyes. And some days, she's Yuri's daughter; all recklessness and whirling hair and action.  
  
Today, she's both of theirs. Brave, as she places one skate in front of the other, determined to get it right.

Neither of them let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who took the time to read, kudos, and especially review this story. your emotions are so important to me and the heartfelt support made my day. i especially appreciate how you hung on with me through every (increasingly distressing) moment. seriously, how do y'all do it? 
> 
> once i reread this monster in its entirety, i'm probably gonna post an edit with a fuckin apology because jfc THIS WAS A ROLLERCOASTER OF FEELINGS. like, i know i'm NUMB TO MY OWN AWFULNESS BUT DAMN. 
> 
> d a m n
> 
> everyone who made it all the way through to the end deserves a medal. especially those who were with me chapter by chapter from the very beginning (i can only imagine your pain, thank you for not taking each update as a personal attack to your emotions)
> 
> i make jokes because idk what else to do now that it's over but be grateful. i never would've thought, when i was just coming up with headcanons, that i would see it finished. and now you're all here with me and i'm really happy we saw it through together. i love you. thank you.

**Author's Note:**

> i love to hear what you have to think
> 
> my research isn't perfect and if anyone is from these cultural/religious backgrounds and has any input, i'd be more than happy to hear it! i did my best to keep it accurate and respectful, but mistakes can happen (especially when I'm tragically American, straight, and can't ice skate for shit)


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